


Seven

by FrancesOsgood



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1368400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancesOsgood/pseuds/FrancesOsgood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven songs in seven days are the price of Jareth's freedom from the Sorceress Sarah.  If he fails he'll belong to her forever, but if he succeeds there may be much more at stake. From a prompt by Ellen_Weaver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sad, Sweet Music

Her sensitive ears first picked up the higher strummed notes of the guitar as she soared over the fog-covered city. The notes were sweet and sad and touched a place in her heart that hadn't been moved in years, perhaps decades. Curious, she spiraled downward to find the source of the music. As she did, new tones accompanied the guitar, a deeper, richer baritone melody.

The raven swooped down gracefully and perched on the window sill of a large brick building. She peered inside the open window where the bittersweet music was streaming through in pulsing waves. Inside, a man sat on a sagging mattress, a worn guitar held lovingly in his grasp. His face was sad, but his eyes were bright and alive, sparkling with emotion as he played the instrument and sang softly.

In her many years as a sorceress, Sarah had seen multitudes of humans. She was acquainted with their funny ways, their fleeting lives and their physical forms. Most humans were of no special interest to her. They were clumsy creatures, lacking the grace and beauty of those of her race. This human however, was intriguing. He had a delicate beauty about him. His features were fine, angular; he had a long elegant nose, high well-defined cheekbones and pale pink lips. His eyes though, were his most unusual and (she thought) most attractive features. They were both crystal blue, but one pupil was over-dilated, making one eye appear darker than the other.

Sarah watched from her perch on the window sill as the man closed his strange eyes and sang as his hands moved over the strings of the instrument. His voice was haunting and Sarah found herself moved to sing with him. She opened her beak to blend her harmony with his melody, but an ugly, croaking caw came out instead. The man stopped playing and opened his eyes and looked up at her. He frowned when he saw the large raven sitting on the window sill. Laying aside the guitar, he stood and approached the open window.

"Get out of here, ugly bird," he said, shooing her out of the window. Sarah flapped her ebony wings at him and cawed hoarsely again. "Go on," the man coaxed. "Fly off back to the Tower."

Surprised and incensed, Sarah flew off the window sill and hovered beyond the building, just out of the man's reach. He frowned at her again and moved to pull down the window, but Sarah dove under his arm and back into the room.

"Hey!" the man cried. "Get out of here!" He grabbed a broom that was leaned in a corner and swept it in circles over his head in an attempt to shoo the raven out of the room. Sarah flapped wildly back and forth, dodging the movements of the broom. Agitated, the man hurled the broom upward and it caught her on the side of one of her wings, sending her plummeting down to the floor. She fell with a graceless thud onto the frayed rug and lay in a pile of dark crumpled feathers.

Throwing the broom aside, the man fell to his knees. "Oh! I'm sorry!" he cried. "I didn't mean to hurt you! I only wanted to get you out." He bent over her inky form with a look of concern and guilt and moved a hand toward her. Before he could touch her however, her feathers began to shimmer and shift. He drew back as her whole body began to radiate light. His mismatched eyes grew wide with wonder and fear as the bird on the floor stretched and grew and glowed and changed until it was no longer a bird, but a beautiful woman standing before him. Her hair was as dark as the raven's feathers, her eyes the color of a cold northern sea. She wore a black cloak trimmed in gold that billowed at the sleeves and trailed out behind her. She looked down at where the man knelt before her and her eyes flashed fury.

"How dare you, insolent mortal!" she hissed. The man made no response. He simply trembled and lowered his eyes from her furious gaze.

"You offer no explanation for this assault?" she asked angrily. "First, you insult me, then you shoo me away, and then you attempt to kill me?"

The man snapped his head up and looked at Sarah. "I wasn't trying to kill you," he gushed. "I was simply trying to get you out."

Sarah glared hard at him and crossed her arms over her chest. "Why?" she demanded to know. "Why did you want me gone? I was merely listening. I heard you playing and singing and wanted to have a closer look. Why would you send me away? Are you so selfish that you would keep your sweet music all to yourself?"

"No...I...I didn't know. I'm sorry," the man muttered miserably.

Sarah scowled at him. "This indignity shall not go unpunished," she said coldly. As the man stared at her in horror, she wove a spell around him, binding his hands tightly together at the wrists and his feet together at the ankles. He tried to move, to break free, but to no avail. Sarah laughed at his feeble attempts to free himself.

"You belong to me now, mortal. The only way to free yourself is to complete the tasks I will set before you. If you succeed, I shall release you. If you fail, you shall belong to me forever to do with as I please. Do you understand?"

The man nodded sadly and Sarah smiled. It had been a long time since she had had a human plaything and she was looking forward to amusing herself at his expense.

"Don't be so sad, little mortal," she purred. "Do as I say and no harm will come to you. Defy me and you will discover the full meaning of eternal suffering."

She tugged on the invisible magic cords binding the man and pulled him after her. "Now," she began, "Do you have a name?"

"J—Jareth" the man answered.

**Next: The Task is Set**


	2. The Task is Set

Jareth opened his eyes and squinted in the dim light of the room to which he had just been transported. The small fire in the fireplace and the smattering of dripping candles did little to light the cavernous room. Rather, they cast creeping shadows upon the walls and ceiling of the dark chamber, making the gloom even more ominous.

"You'll have to excuse the darkness," Sarah purred as she watched the human she'd captured stumbling and blinking in her shadowy boudoir. "My imps prefer the dark."

Jareth's ears pricked at the sound of scratching and scuffling in an unlit corner. His heart pounded in his chest at the thought of dark-dwelling imps turned loose upon his pale flesh.

"Don't worry, little pet," Sarah chuckled, sensing his anxiety. "They won't harm you. Unless I tell them to." She chuckled again as Jareth gasped and tensed in his bonds. An unseen imp crept closer to examine the new thing its Mistress had brought home. The imp sniffed and pawed at Jareth's body, its fingers raking down his legs and sending chills to his core. He cried out and attempted to wrench away, but his bonds held fast.

"Bjad, leave my pet alone," Sarah told the curious imp. As Jareth's eyes adjusted to the dim light he could see the creature more clearly. It was a hideous thing with long pointed ears, sunken gold eyes and skin like tanned leather. It had long, willowy arms and legs that tapered into clawed hands and taloned feet. At its Mistress's command, it unfurled two large bat-like wings from its back and flapped upward toward the vaulted ceiling. Jareth looked up and was horrified to see hundreds of pairs of gold eyes peering down at him from the arches and alcoves. He staggered backward, his ankles still tightly bound, and lost his balance. He tumbled to the ground, upsetting a small table on his way down and sending platters, books and a brass candelabra crashing to the floor. Above him, the imps shrieked at the cacophony. Their high-pitched cries echoed from the ceiling and off the stone walls. Jareth moaned in pain as their screeches pierced his skull like icy daggers.

Sarah regarded him coldly. "What kind of pathetic creature have I taken for myself?" she hissed. "Stop whimpering and get up, you miserable mortal." With only a word, she loosened the bindings around his ankles so that he could move more freely, but could not escape.

Jareth bit his lip and stood on shaky legs before the beautiful sorceress. She looked him over from head to toe. "Your form is pleasing enough," she told him. Sarah glanced at his ill-fitting shirt, his threadbare pants and his worn shoes. "Your attire needs work. Azlar! Wend!" she called to the formless eyes above their heads. "Come and tend to my pet." She turned her gaze back to Jareth. "Azlar and Wend are my gentlest imps. Don't attempt to fight them and they won't hurt you."

The two monstrous creatures flew down from their hidden alcove and stood before their Mistress. She spoke to them in a broken, croaking language that Jareth was unable to understand, but from the nodding of the imp's heads, he surmised that she was giving them serious instructions. The sorceress stepped aside and the imps moved toward Jareth with their scythe-like claws extended out to him.

"What are they going to do to me?" he asked, recoiling in panic. The sorceress rolled her eyes.

"They are going to remove those filthy, disgusting clothes you are wearing. However, as I've told you, if you fight them, they're quite liable to remove more than your clothing. Your skin, perhaps."

Jareth stood as still as he possibly could as the imps approached and laid their leathery hands on him. Their sharp claws sliced through his clothing like a sword through flesh, ripping and shredding them until his shirt and pants hung in tatters from his body. He quailed and shivered in the cold room as the creatures yanked at the strips of ruined cloth and he was left completely naked. The sorceress dismissed the imps with a wave of her hand and studied the shivering man before her.

His skin was pale in the places that had been covered by clothing, but his face, forearms, neck and part of his chest glowed bronze in the firelight. He was thin, but not scrawny. His arms and legs were lean and toned, his chest lightly muscled and laid over with a fine covering of gold hair. Jareth squirmed uncomfortably as Sarah's gaze shifted downward. She smiled slightly to herself. He had nothing to be ashamed of. For a human, he was more than adequately endowed.

Jareth shuddered in the cold air and Sarah waved her hand. The small fire roared to life, billowing outward into the room and filling it with heat and light. The imps above shrieked shrilly in protest, but Sarah silenced them with a look.

"There," she said, striding gracefully toward Jareth. "Is that better?" Her pale face seemed to reflect the light of the fire. She smiled at him, her deep green eyes glimmering with magic and waited for him to answer.

"Please," Jareth spoke in almost a whisper. "Please allow me to cover myself." He lowered his head and looked at the stone floor.

Sarah grunted and began to slowly circle him. His body tensed as he felt her eyes raking over his naked body and boring into him.

"No," Sarah said, narrowing her eyes at him. "I will not. You will remain as you are and you will do as I say if you wish to be released." She yanked on the invisible cords holding him and he stumbled over to her. "Would you like to know what you must do to free yourself?" she asked.

Jareth nodded dumbly, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. He could only imagine what the sorceress would ask of him.

Sarah seated herself in an enormous chair of carved oak and gazed pitilessly at Jareth. "You are a musician, are you not?" she asked him. Jareth nodded again and Sarah leaned forward. "You will compose for me seven songs of my choosing," she told him. "You will have one day to compose each song. If you fail to do so, or if your offering does not fulfill my request, your freedom is forfeit and you belong to me. Seven songs in seven days. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Jareth answered quietly.

"Very well then," said Sarah. "Rest tonight, my pet. Your task will begin tomorrow."

She waved her hand and Jareth found himself transported to a dank room in the bowels of the sorceress's castle. A heavy wooden door with iron locks kept him shut tightly inside the small chamber. He looked around in the gloom where a thin shaft of moonlight beamed through the tiny window on the outer wall. There were no furnishings of any kind in the room: no chair, bed, or even a straw mat to lie upon. Jareth sighed sadly and lay down on the cold stone floor, bringing his arms and legs in tightly to his chest. His body ached from the chilled air and the stone floor and his mind whirled with anxiety over what the next day would bring, but at last he fell into a fitful sleep.

Far above him, in a high tower of her castle, the sorceress watched the sleeping mortal though a crystal sphere. She noted the rise and fall of his smooth chest, the twitch of his mouth as he dreamt, the long tapered lines of his arms and legs hugged tightly to his naked body. She allowed herself to imagine her hands on his chest, her lips on his mouth, her arms and legs carelessly entwined with his. It had been a very long time since she had taken a mortal to her bed.

"No," she told herself. "I mustn't get distracted from the task at hand." She looked at the thick black book on the table before her and ran her fingers over the dark leather cover. "This Jareth is the key to my freedom," she whispered to the gloom. The book trembled under her touch and she smiled. "Soon," she sighed. "Very soon."


	3. The Greatest Magic

The chamber was still pitch black and bitingly cold when Jareth awoke and stretched his aching arms and legs. Outside the small arched window of his cell he could hear the heavy splashing of raindrops against the stones of the dark fortress. He rubbed his sore muscles and stood in the murky chamber and tried to peer out the high window. The sky offered no clue to the time of day; all he could see were black clouds and falling rain.

On the opposite side of the room, the iron locks clicked and slid back and the enormous door swung open. The sorceress leered at him from the open doorway.

"Did you rest well, pet?" she questioned, raising an ebony eyebrow.

"Well enough," Jareth answered nervously.

Sarah laughed and pulled at his unseen leash. "Come with me then," she told him, leading him out of the damp cell and up a winding set of stairs. She could have just as easily transported them magically, but it was much more enjoyable for her to drag the pathetic naked human around. She looked back at him and smiled. He walked with his head down and his shoulders hunched, the portrait of shame and humiliation. His lowness filled her with wicked glee.

After what seemed like an eternity of stairs and twisting corridors, the sorceress ordered him to stop and Jareth looked up. They had entered a large room hung with velvet curtains the color of freshly drawn blood. Two spindly imps were waiting in the shadowy chamber, holding what appeared to be an assortment of garments. Jareth's feet froze to the floor at the sight of the imps, but the sorceress yanked hard on his leash and he stumbled clumsily forward.

"Gwiv and Drang will clothe you, pet," she told him. "After you are dressed you will take breakfast and I will give you your first task." She motioned to the imps and they bowed their heads to her before creeping toward Jareth. "Don't keep me waiting," the sorceress commanded before disappearing from the room.

Jareth's body tensed as the creatures took hold of his arms and slipped a dove grey linen shirt over his head and shoulders. The material fell gracefully over his form, soft and light as downy feathers. The imps chattered to one another in high-pitched squeaks and chirps as they dressed him, pushing and pulling on his arms and legs and jostling him about. As they haphazardly yanked a pair of buttery soft black leather pants up his pale legs, one of the imps dragged its claws over Jareth's flesh and he let out a yelp. Startled by his cry, the imps covered their pointed ears and backed away into the corner. Jareth cursed and bent to examine the stinging wound. The skin around the cut glowed red and the gash itself was pulsing out a scarlet stream of blood. Jareth grabbed a piece of cloth that was lying on the floor and wrapped it carefully around the wound before pulling the leather pants the rest of the way up his legs. He didn't dare keep the sorceress waiting for fear that she would take his tardiness as an act of defiance and deny him his chance to free himself. The imps shuffled back over to him and handed him a black embroidered waistcoat which he hurriedly shrugged into. He fastened the large black belt the imps gave him next before pulling on a pair of knee-high leather boots. When he was dressed, the imps led him up another twisting staircase and into a long hall where the sorceress waited at the head of an ornately carved table.

Sarah studied Jareth's attire appreciatively, noting the pleasing way the soft billowy shirt lay open revealing his pale chest. The leather pants clung to his legs like a second skin, accentuating his lean thighs and the curve of his buttocks. She smiled her approval, nodding to the imps, and they seated Jareth at her side. They placed a plate of bread and cheese in front of him, but he eyed the food warily.

"Eat, my pet," Sarah cooed. "I assure you this food is safe for you to eat. I have no wish to harm you. You promise to be so entertaining after all."

"I am not your pet," Jareth said quietly, not looking up from his plate.

"Aren't you?" asked Sarah with a wicked grin. "You're my plaything then," she chuckled. She looked at the pitiful human at her side and shook her head. "Very well, how would you prefer I address you?"

"By my name," answered Jareth, at last venturing to take a bite of bread. It was warm and sweet and he hungrily ripped off another piece and shoved it into his mouth. The cheese was delicious too, soft and salty and pungent. Jareth ate heartily, pausing now and then to take a gulp from the glass of deep wine the imps had brought him. Sarah watched in wonder as her captive devoured the food. She never ate much herself and found it amusing that such a puny creature could consume so much bread and cheese. At last, Jareth pushed the plate away and sat back in his chair, sated.

"I'm glad to see that you have eaten well, my p—Jareth," Sarah told him. "Are you ready for your first task?"

"Yes," Jareth answered with a slight nod. His eyes shifted nervously from side to side and Sarah could tell he was trying to be braver than he felt. She couldn't help but smile at his vain attempt.

"Tonight," she began, "You will sing me a song about the greatest and oldest magic, the most miraculous of feats ever performed. You have until sunset to discover this magic and compose my song. I will also allow you the freedom to venture outside the castle while you work. You may go to the first gate, but not beyond. Any attempt to escape will result in you forfeiting the challenge and belonging to me forever." She sat back in her chair and let her words sink in.

Jareth stared straight ahead as he mulled over the task she had given him. It was an almost impossible challenge. He knew nothing of magic or miracles. He was a mere mortal musician. He hung his head and sighed and the sorceress grunted.

"I hope you won't give up so easily," she whispered in his ear. Jareth looked up and was surprised to find himself on a grey plain outside the castle. The rain had ceased, but angry clouds still hung heavy over the land, drenching it in damp darkness. Sarah regarded him coldly as he looked up at the sky, then to looming gate ahead of him, then back at the castle. "Time is short," she hissed. "You shouldn't spend it gawking."

"I—I don't have my guitar," Jareth mumbled. The sorceress frowned and with a flourish of her ghostly hand produced a crystal sphere. Jareth watched, hypnotized, as she wove it back and forth in the air from her palm to her knuckles and back again. The crystal began to shimmer and before his eyes it changed into a sleek guitar. The instrument was an evil looking thing, glossy black with a studded leather strap. Its tapered neck was inlayed with slivers of blood-red rubies along the fret markers and the head stock was carved into a grinning death's head. Instead of the graceful curves and smooth lines of his own worn guitar, this one had sharp angles and jagged edges. The sorceress held the sinister instrument out to him and he hesitantly took it from her. He swept his fingers over the strings and winced. The strings were sharp and bit into his fingers, drawing blood from his fingertips despite his calluses.

"You have until sunset, Jareth," the sorceress reminded him. "You had better get started."

She disappeared before Jareth could reply, leaving him alone on the soggy plain beyond the castle.

Jareth shrugged and carefully slipped the guitar strap over his shoulder so that the instrument rested against his back. The hard angles of the instrument dug into his shoulder blade as he trudged down the slippery path toward a hilly area near the dark gate. His leg still burned from where the imp had scratched him, making the sloggy trek even more difficult. At last he reached his destination and stopped. Shrugging off the black guitar and setting it aside, he sat down against the wall and looked up at the sunless sky.

"How am I supposed to figure out this challenge?" he asked the clouds. "I know nothing of magic new or old, great or small. I'm beaten before I even begin." Jareth leaned his head back against the stone wall and closed his eyes in despair.

"Well, you won't get anywhere with that attitude. That's for certain," said a gruff voice.

Jareth's eyes snapped open and he jerked his head up, looking around for the source of the voice.

"I'm over here, you big nincompoop," the voice called. Jareth looked to his left and saw a small brown dwarf gazing at him with his stubby arms crossed over his chest.

"What are you staring at?" asked the dwarf. "Ain't you ever seen a dwarf before?"

"No," Jareth told him honestly. In fact, he'd never seen anything quite like this dwarf.

"Hmph!" grunted the dwarf. "Well, now you have, so kindly move along. I'm trying to work." He bent over a patch of turned earth and poked and prodded it with a fat finger.

"What exactly are you working at?" asked Jareth.

The dwarf straightened himself and looked at him. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm planting. It's what I does. I'm a gardener."

Jareth looked around at the barren and soggy hillside. Besides a few half-dead trees and some wicked looking ivy, there weren't any plants to be seen.

"Where is your garden?" he asked, somewhat amused.

"Here!" cried the dwarf. "At least it used to be here." He kicked at the ground, sending clumps of muddy earth flying in Jareth's direction. A blob of mud spattered across his shirt leaving flecks of ochre over the grey linen.

"It ain't no use!" wailed the dwarf. "Nothin' grows here anymore. Not since that evil witch took over."

"The sorceress?" questioned Jareth.

"That's the one," the dwarf answered crossly. He pointed his finger at Jareth. "Don't you be fooled by that pretty face. That one's the devil," he said.

"Oh, I'm well aware of that," Jareth told the would-be gardener, adding a bitter chuckle.

The little man shook his head sadly. "Got you already, has she?" he asked. "Well, at least she ain't made you into one of them disgusting winged things she's got up there in 'er castle. Them's evil, I tell ya. I seen two of 'em make off with a whole horse once. Carried it right off and gnawed it right down to the bones."

Jareth shuddered. He was already terrified of the imps and the dwarf wasn't helping matters. He tried to change the subject.

"The sorceress has given me a challenge," he told the diminutive man. "Tell me, do you know anything about magic?"

The dwarf grunted again. "If I did, I wouldn't tell ya. No sir. I ain't crossing that evil bitch. Anyways, I don't. Like I told you, I'm a gardener. Only magic I got is making things grow." His weathered face grew sad. "At least I use to could," he added wistfully.

Jareth patted the little man on the shoulder. "I'm sorry," he told him.

"Bah," grumbled the dwarf. "Ain't no use for you to be sorry. Won't make flowers grow." He settled onto the ground next to Jareth and grabbed a handful of dirt in his chubby hand. "I use to love flowers," he sighed and studied the clump of dirt. "Nothing grows in this cursed soil now, not even worms!" He threw the clump of dirt down with a thud. "No life here anymore," he continued angrily. "No plants, no creatures 'cept them imps and few others stranded here like me." The dwarf spread his hands out over the hillside. "This land used to be crawling with life," he told Jareth. "But no more. Now it's just a wasteland. In fact, I ain't heard of a single creature being born here since that horrible woman came to power."

"Not a single birth?" Jareth asked incredulously.

The dwarf shook his round head. "Nope," he answered. "Not a one."

Jareth sat back against the wall and sighed. "What a horrible fate for a land to be stripped of its fertility," he thought sadly. New life was essential for any land. Without it, after a while all that would remain would be dust and dried bones. Nothingness. Birth was, after all, the greatest... Jareth stopped mid-thought. It couldn't be that simple, could it? He turned to the dwarf who was sitting forlornly beside him, gazing out the muddy wasteland.

"Do you have a name?" he asked quickly.

"What?" asked the dwarf, his eyes growing wide.

"I asked if you have a name," Jareth repeated.

"Hoggle," answered the dwarf.

"Hoggle," began Jareth, "would you say that birth is the greatest of all magic?"

Hoggle rested his chin on his wrinkled fist and thought for a minute. "Hmmm," he said. "It certainly is a great trick, makin' another life outta just a little piece of a him and a her, or puttin' a seed in the ground and gettin' a peach tree or a squash or a blackberry bush."

Jareth clapped his hands together with glee. He had the answer! Now he had only to compose the song. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed the menacing guitar.

"Where ya goin'?" Hoggle asked as he turned to leave.

"I have to complete my task now, Higgle," he told him.

"It's Hoggle."

"Yes, well thank you, Hoggle. You've been most helpful." He slung the guitar over his shoulder and started off down the muddy slope."

"Hey!" Hoggle called after him. "I told ya my name. What's yours?"

Jareth paused and turned back to the little gardener. "Jareth," he answered with a smile. He waved to the dwarf and set off to compose his song for the sorceress.

Jareth worked throughout the rest of the day, weaving the words together and setting them to music. His fingers were stained red from the biting of the guitar strings, but he strummed on, determined to finish his task. By the time he was satisfied, the sun was dissolving into the horizon. As the last red streak sank into the curve of the earth, the sorceress appeared.

"Have you a song for me?" she purred, circling the man with the guitar like a lioness about to go in for the kill. Her ebony robes billowed out behind her as she stalked him.

"I have," Jareth stated flatly. He looked up at the sorceress and gave her a smug smile.

Sarah halted in her pacing and glared down at him, tempted to strike him down for his insolence. She decided against it; he was of no use to her dead. Instead, she waved her hand and she and Jareth were transported back to her dark boudoir.

"Then, by all means, sing," she commanded before taking a seat in her enormous throne-like chair.

Jareth looked up warily at the ceiling where the imps flapped and fluttered and chattered to one another. He took a deep breath and tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. Straightening his back, he resolutely grasped the black guitar and drew his bloody fingers over the strings. The chord echoed sweetly around the room and above him, the imps stilled. Pleased, Jareth opened his mouth and began to sing.

_In the secret and hidden places,_

_In the deep dark heart of the earth_

_In the warm, wet womb of a mother_

_Lies the magical mystery of birth_

_One small piece of a creature_

_One hard stone of a peach_

_One brief stay in the darkness_

_Then upward and outward to the breach_

_To the light that is fleeting but wondrous_

_To the life that is fragile and frail_

_To the grindstone, the mill and the table_

_Each to the end of its tale_

_The bud presses up from its soil bed_

_The tree rises up from the clay_

_The man bursts forth from his mother_

_To stand in the glory of day_

The room fell silent as Jareth's voice faded out and he damped the humming guitar strings with his open hand. He looked up at the sorceress, who was sitting stiffly in her chair, her hands firmly crossed over her lap. The slight tremor of her fingers didn't escape his notice.

"Does my song fulfill your request, my Lady?" he graciously asked, bowing.

Sarah shifted uncomfortably in her seat, awaiting judgment from a power beyond hers. She felt it come in a loosening of the unseen chains around her ankles. The chains fell away and she almost cried out in joy, but held herself in check. Jareth could not know the truth. She looked at where he stood waiting for her answer. His face searched hers anxiously, and she narrowed her cold eyes at him.

"Yes," she uttered at last. She came near to laughter at Jareth's audible sigh of relief. He fell to his knees, still clutching the guitar, and she could see the exhaustion overtaking him. She felt a twinge of pity for him, but swallowed it back down like bile.

"You have earned your bread tonight, Jareth," she told him, rising from her chair. "Eat and rest. You will be issued another challenge in the morning."

Sarah motioned with her hand and a chaise lounge with black satin cushions and pillows appeared. A table set with an assortment of sliced meats, a plate of dark brown bread and a goblet of sweet wine materialized beside it and Sarah directed Jareth to sit and eat.

He did as he was told, flopping gracelessly onto the chaise lounge and grabbing at the meat and bread. He ate hungrily for several minutes before his head began bobbing up and down with drowsiness. Finally, he left the food and stretched out on the chaise lounge, quickly falling into a deep sleep.

Sarah crept quietly to his side and studied his face. He was beautiful and he had broken the first of her chains, chains she had been unable to break herself despite her mastery of dark arts. She glanced up at the thick black book on the table and smirked.

"You won't hold me much longer," she hissed to it.

Beside her, Jareth stirred and she gazed down on him as he slept. A droplet of wine still clung to his lower lip and she swept it away with her forefinger. She looked at the scarlet droplet for a moment before touching it to her tongue, tasting its sweetness mingled with the salt of his skin. Her body quivered at the sensation and she cursed herself.

"Don't be a fool," she chided. "The human is a key to your chains, nothing more." She extinguished the candles with a wave of her hand and strode purposefully out of the room, leaving Jareth to his dreams.


	4. The Greatest Treasure

Chapter 4: The Greatest Treasure

Jareth watched the sorceress carefully the next morning as he ate his breakfast. His first victory and a decent bed had resulted in a restful sleep. He tucked into his breakfast, a soft boiled duck egg in an engraved silver cup accompanied by more of the sweet yeasty bread from the previous morning, all the while studying the sorceress as she read from an enormous black book.

"What do you read?" he asked between bites of bread.

She looked up from the dark book and her eyes held a deep sadness, an expression of regret and sorrow. "Histories," she told him quietly. With a thud that resounded across the room, she shut the book and a small smile formed across her ruby lips. "Are you ready for your next task?" she asked him.

"I am, my Lady," he answered with a little bow of his head. His own bravado surprised him. Just a day before, he'd cowered before the evil woman and now he faced her somewhat resolutely. He felt stronger, more capable, more powerful. He had completed her first task, after all. He smiled to himself.

The sorceress frowned, her eyes becoming narrow green slits, like cats' eyes. "I wouldn't be so smug, little mortal," she warned. "You've completed only one challenge. You have six more to go before you can claim any sort of victory."

Jareth lowered his eyed as she rose from her seat to tower over him, her billowing robes spilling over the floor like purple mist. She leaned over his shoulder to whisper in his ear and he caught her scent, blood and myrrh and ash. "Tonight," she spoke hotly into his ear, "you will sing me a song of the greatest treasure on earth." She pulled away from him and crossed her arms over her chest. "As before, you have until sunset. You may venture today beyond the first gate to the foot of the stone mountains, but no further. Be gone."

She waved her hand and Jareth found himself with the evil guitar strapped to his back on the muddy hillside where he had met the dwarf the day before. He looked around, but saw no sign of the tiny gardener. With a shrug, he took off down the hill toward to rocky peaks beyond the black gate in search of inspiration. He thought of the sorceress and her black book as he walked, and wondered what sorts of histories such a book could contain to make her seem so disconcerted. The book filled him with curiosity and he thought to formulate a plan to discover its secrets.

"No," Jareth told himself out loud. "I mustn't waste time on the book. I must finish this challenge!" For all he knew, the evil witch had planned the whole performance to distract him from his task. He clenched his fists in rage. Damn that wretched bitch!

His angry ruminations were interrupted by a howling cry coming from the foot of the stone mountains just ahead of him. Jareth quickened his pace as the sound grew louder. Someone or something was in terrible pain. The mournful cries made his ears ring and his heart ache as he searched for its source. He reached the foot of the mountains and looked around. Large boulders lay scattered about from what had been a rock slide.

"Is anyone here?" Jareth called out. He was answered with a pathetic whimper from a large pile of jagged rocks. Scrambling over to the stones and crouching down, Jareth could see a furry form about the size of a small dog pinned beneath the huge rocks. The creature moaned sadly as it struggled beneath the heavy stones.

"Hold still," Jareth called to the creature. "I'll get you out." He quickly laid aside the guitar and studied the rocks, trying to figure which ones he could move without causing the rest to fall and crush the creature beneath them. Finally satisfied with a plan of action, Jareth set about pushing and tugging at the large rocks, rolling them carefully off the bundle of fur and down the hill. With a final heave of a jagged boulder, the creature was freed. Jareth reached down and carefully picked the creature up, laying his head on its fuzzy chest to check for a heartbeat. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard a weak, but steady thudding in its chest.

"I need to get you to help," Jareth told the creature. "But I don't know where to go. Where do you belong, little furry thing?"

The ball of fur opened its eyes and looked up at him. A wide smile broke over its face and Jareth couldn't help smiling back at the strange beast. It was a truly odd creature with small fanglike teeth protruding from its bottom jaw and black horns curling outward and downward from the side of its head. However, its smile was sweet and genuine and gave the hairy beast a pleasant and comforting countenance. The creature stirred slightly and cried in pain. It was injured and Jareth was at a loss as to what to do.

"Where can I take you?" he asked impatiently.

"Mam," whimpered the beast.

"Mam? You want your mother? Is she nearby?" The creature answered only with a cry of pain and Jareth looked frantically about the hillside. There was no time to be dilly-dallying with injured beasts! He had a task to complete. He considered just leaving the hairy thing to its fate and walking away, but was unable to turn away from those small pleading brown eyes. Cursing his soft heart, he tucked the creature under one arm, slung his guitar over his shoulder with the other and began following the curve of the stone mountains.

After walking for what seemed like hours, he came to a cleft in the rocks. The creature in his arms perked up and Jareth looked down at it.

"You know this place?" he asked.

The little beast nodded its head slowly and smiled. "Mam," it said weakly.

Jareth approached the entrance to the narrow cave cautiously. He knew it was likely that the beasts within would not take kindly to his meddling with one of their young. As he moved toward the opening, the creature in his arms cried out and Jareth nearly dropped it and ran, but maintained his composure long enough to see an enormous hairy beast squeeze through the slit in the rocks to stand before him. It was as tall as a tree and covered in hair, with a gaping mouth and curling horns. Jareth backed away slowly, still holding the young beast.

"Mam!" it called and held out its hairy arms to the towering creature. The large beast stepped forward and gathered up her child and held it to her chest and purred lightly. The young beast nuzzled into its mothers breast and Jareth was taken aback by the gentleness of the hulking beast. The mother turned to Jareth and he tensed, ready to run, but she only smiled at him.

"He—he was caught in a rock slide," Jareth told her nervously. "He's injured."

"Ludo hurt," the mother said, her voice a low rumble. She turned and began moving back to the cleft, but paused and turned back to Jareth. "Come," she told him.

"I—I have to go," he tried to argue, but she caught his hand in her giant paw and dragged him along after her. She pulled him though the narrow opening of the rocks and into a large cavernous room. As they entered, they were greeted with whoops and purrs of joy. There were several more of the large beasts in the room and they all gathered around the smaller one in its mother's arms, obviously overjoyed at his safe return. The mother growled something to the others and they turned to Jareth and smiled, their big furry faces lighting up with warmth.

A table was spread as the young beast's wounds were examined and dressed and the family of hairy creatures offered Jareth a seat. They set a steaming bowl of soup in front of him and offered him fresh water. He ate and watched as they celebrated the return of their young one, speaking in guttural growls and purrs and singing in long echoing hums that shook the cavern and rattled the furniture. In the midst of them, Ludo sat, allowing himself to be cuddled and hugged by his family.

Jareth watched in awe and wonder as the family of enormous beasts feted the smallest of their number. Their behavior bewildered him. They were so huge and imposing. What was it about this tiny being that caused them to make such a fuss? He watched Ludo's mother as she picked up her child and held him close, tears clinging to the edges of her dark eyes. She was moved to tears at having her child returned to her. Were children, even those of simple beasts, really of such value? Did they not give birth to more of the same every time the winter faded and the earth became green again?

Jareth remembered what the gardener had told him. This earth never became green. Nothing, to the dwarf's knowledge, had been born here in a very long time. Jareth looked at Ludo with his family. If that were true, then this child was rare and precious indeed. A treasure. Jareth reached for his guitar, fully knowing what the subject of his song for the sorceress would be.  
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"Sing for me, my sweet," the sorceress cooed to Jareth in the shadowy recesses of her chambers. She had whisked him away at sunset and he had been ready. She sat in her throne by the flickering fire, her eyes two icy emeralds in the snowy expanse of her face. Her full lips were curled into a menacing sneer, but Jareth noted a quiver at their edges. The bitch was uncertain, even nervous. He studied her carefully for a moment, taking in the fact that she had shed her ebony cloak and now sat before him in a jeweled gown so deep green it was almost black. The gown's bodice was cut into a low vee, putting her creamy breasts proudly on display. Jareth laughed to himself as he picked up the guitar. She was beautiful, but he was not about to let her lips or her eyes or her breasts distract him from completing his challenge. He swept his hand over the strings of the guitar, his fingers still bloodied and stinging after hours of composing his song, and began to sing.

Sarah watched him, her breath hitching in her throat as his pale, blood-stained fingers played over the guitar strings. She imagined his hands moving over her body as they moved over the instrument, gently stroking, tenderly caressing. His voice awoke her from her lustful thoughts as his rich baritone filled the room, quieting the imps and making the hairs on her arms stand on end.

_What is gold to a woman's empty arms?_

_Can diamonds on her hands quell her aching heart?_

_What is silver to the man without a son?_

_To whom shall he his wealth, his blood impart?_

_What is life without rebirth of hope?_

_That death is not the end of each man's fame_

_In his child he sees immortality_

_The passing on of life and blood and name_

_The greatest treasure lies not in a gem_

_Nor in a pearl or shining vein of gold_

_It lies within the heart of every child_

_The echo of his youth when he is old_

_When his hourglass of Time runs out of sands_

_Children hold the future in their tiny hands_

Jareth looked at the sorceress as he stopped singing. Her eyes were closed, her head flung back against her dark throne, her chestnut hair falling over her ivory shoulders like skeins of silk.

"My lady?" called Jareth.

She opened her eyes and lifted her head and gazed coldly at him. "Leave me," she whispered.

"But have I satisfied your request, my Lady?" Jareth asked insistently.

"Yes!" Sarah snarled. "Now leave me!" She motioned with her hand and the doors flew open. Jareth felt himself being dragged out by unseen hands and he scrabbled at the walls and floor, seeking purchase, but to no avail. He was yanked violently from the room and whisked down the winding stairs before being dropped unceremoniously on the floor of a small chamber. Jareth looked up at the room. It was thankfully furnished with a chair, a table with a candle on it, and a narrow bed. Jareth crawled toward the bed, letting the guitar fall to the floor and remain there. He hoisted himself onto the thin cot and lay on his back.

He wondered at the sorceress's behavior. Had his song really had such an effect on her? It was strange, but it seemed to him that as he sang he felt a crawling tingle curling up his legs and chest and into his arms and hands. His limbs felt heavier, but he attributed that to fatigue. It had been a long, exhausting day. He turned onto his side and rested his head on his outstretched arm. There was no telling what the following day would bring, but he was no longer afraid. He had beaten two of the sorceress's challenges, and he could see that she was nervous. He could defeat her if he didn't let her distract him with her smoldering eyes or her pouting lips or her pale smooth breasts. He fell asleep with a smile on his lips.

In her chamber, Sarah stretched her limbs, relishing the feeling of having her ankles and wrists unbound. The Power had not hesitated this time, but had loosened her bonds even as Jareth sang. They fell away from her like shed skin, leaving her blissfully unfettered. Afraid her captive would see her unleashing, she had sent him away. If he were to find out the truth, if he discovered her curse, all would be lost.

The sorceress slumped into her throne, exhausted from the expense of her magic. The mortal was doing well, but he was growing stronger. She could sense it. He would rise up against her if she were not careful. But Sarah had seen him watching her. She hadn't missed the way his eyes had lingered on her breasts. Perhaps it was time to put her considerable knowledge of enchantments to good use. It was crucial that the mortal helped her, but she had to keep him firmly in her control. Yes, she thought. The mortal had had but a taste of her charms. Tomorrow she would show him how truly beguiling she could be. He would fall under her spell and there would be nothing he could do to resist.


	5. The Greatest Fool

Sarah opened the heavy door to the chamber where Jareth slept and peered inside. He lay on his back on the narrow bed, his mane of gold hair a wild halo behind his head. The grey light filtered through the arched window, falling gently over his pale chest and kissing the left side of his face. Sarah moved quietly toward the sleeping mortal, her feet soundless on the hard stones, and stood beside his bed. She reached out an alabaster hand and touched it lightly to his cheek and he stirred and opened his eyes.

"Good morning, my Lady," he said with a yawn.

"Good morning, Jareth," she replied, still stroking his cheek. "I hope you slept well."

Jareth turned away from her caressing hand and sat up. "I did, my Lady, though I'm famished," he told her. He had not eaten the night before and as if on cue, his stomach rumbled its displeasure.

The sorceress laughed. "I will have your breakfast brought to you," she said. "When you have eaten, you will join me in my chambers. We have things to discuss." She turned to leave.

"Will there be no challenge today, my Lady?" Jareth asked boldly and the sorceress paused and looked back at him. Her eyes were cold, but she smiled.

"There will be a challenge, my pet, make no mistake," she answered. "However, instead of fumbling about my kingdom, today you will remain in the castle. I find you entertaining and as I am often alone, I wish to be amused."

"My little songs are not enough entertainment for you?" Jareth asked with a smirk.

The sorceress's smile faded. "I would not mock me, mortal," she growled. "I am being generous in allowing you to attempt to earn your freedom. I could be cruel and turn you into one of my imps instead."

"Forgive me, my Lady," Jareth apologized, bowing before her. "I meant no offense. I should be happy to spend the day at your side." In truth, he was more than a little curious about the woman. He knew nothing of her or how she came to be. The dwarf remembered a time before her, but what was that like? What had happened to cause her to live in such barren isolation?

Sarah's face softened. "Very well," she said. "Eat and come to me." She turned quickly, the skirts of her gown swirling behind her, and disappeared from the room.

A few minutes later an imp flew into the chamber carrying a covered tray. The imp set the tray on the small table and flapped out, but not before swooping tauntingly low over Jareth's head.

"Get out of here, demon!" Jareth spat as the winged fiend chattered and shrieked at him and flew out the door.

Jareth pulled a chair over to the little table, sat down and lifted the lid of the tray. The tray held a bowl of porridge, a small pitcher of sweet cream and a pint of ale. He ate and drank his fill, picked up his guitar and began climbing the swirling steps to the sorceress's chambers.

The oaken doors to her boudoir swung open before he even knocked. "Come in, Jareth," the sorceress purred as she slunk toward him. He stood motionless as she strode stealthily forward, her hips swaying side to side, her long dark hair swishing behind her. She beckoned with a crooked finger and he stumbled into the room.

Sarah studied him, eyeing his disheveled and matted hair and his muddied clothes with disapproval. "You stink," she hissed. Jareth had no doubt of it. He was quite certain he smelled of sweat and mud and wild beast. The sorceress frowned and put her hands on her hips. "You shall be bathed before I allow you to occupy the same space as me." She called to her imps and three of them flew swiftly down from the rafters.

"Take my pet to the bath and see that he is thoroughly scrubbed," the sorceress commanded them.

Jareth crossed his arms over his chest and stared her in the face. "My Lady," he announced. "I do not wish for those creatures to touch me. They have injured me once already and I am not keen to have my flesh gashed open by them again."

The sorceress lifted a dark eyebrow and clucked her tongue at him. "Poor Jareth," she teased. "Did my imps hurt your delicate mortal flesh? What a pity. Very well then." She waved her hand in a circle in the air and the hideous imps melted into the floor like candle wax before rising up and reforming as beautiful nymphs. "Are they more to your liking?" she asked Jareth.

He stared wide-eyed at the nubile young women with long hair the color of flax and arms and legs that looked as if they had been carved from polished marble. He let the guitar slide off his shoulder as the young women approached him, giggling, and took him by the hands, leading him into an adjoining room with ebony granite tiles and a large soaking tub in the center of the floor. Hot water was already filling the tub, sending billows of fragrant mist into the air and making the black walls shimmery wet. The nymphs chattered pleasantly to one another as they tugged at Jareth's shirt and pants. Tossing the dirty clothes aside, they drew him with them down into the steaming tub. He felt his tense muscles relax immediately as the water enveloped him. One of the nymphs poured a basin of water over his head while another scrubbed his chest and arms with a soft sponge. The third nymph positioned herself between his knees with her back to him and set about washing and massaging his feet.

Jareth moaned in bliss as the nymphs caressed and fussed over him. They cleaned and rinsed his matted hair and rubbed his back and shoulders. The nymph between his knees turned and took his hands in hers. Her diaphanous gown was soaked through and Jareth could clearly see her milk-white breasts with rosy nipples. She smiled prettily at him before bringing his right hand to her mouth. Slowly, she slipped his bloodied index finger between her pink lips and drew it out, licking it clean. She did the same for his others fingers and Jareth could not stop his body's reaction to her ministrations. His breath came in short pants and his heart thundered in his chest as she cleansed his fingers with her mouth. She crept forward slowly when she was done, hand over hand until her breasts rested against his chest and her face was level with his. She pressed her lips, still stained with his blood, against his and kissed him gently. He felt her tongue slide against his bottom lip and he opened his mouth and let her kiss him fully. His mouth moved over hers as she and the other nymphs caressed his body. He closed his eyes and slid further down into the water with them, his limbs becoming loose and relaxed under their soothing touches.

"Enough!" bellowed an angry voice from above him. Jareth thrashed in the water, choking and gasping for air, as a pale hand reached down and dragged him up and out of the tub. He fell with a wet plop at the feet of the sorceress and looked up into her glaring eyes.

'I should have known better than to leave you alone with the nymphs," she hissed. "You fool. I should have let them drown you."

Jareth turned and looked back at the beautiful nymphs. They giggled at him, but hissed at the sorceress who had stolen their plaything. He shook his head and lifted himself off the cool black granite and stood before the sorceress. She looked down at his naked body and smirked as he tried unsuccessfully to hide his arousal behind his hands.

"Ridiculous creature," she said shaking her head. "Come with me. You can clothe yourself this time." She turned and led him from the bath and into her chambers. A suit of clothes lay draped across a chair and she motioned for him to put them on. With only a small flourish of the sorceress's hand, Jareth's hair and body were dry. Stepping behind her dressing screen, he pulled on the clothing: a shirt of garnet silk with flowing sleeves and a ruffled neck, soft charcoal breeches with a wide black belt, a black velvet waistcoat with silver stitching, and shiny black boots with pointed toes. He gazed at himself in the mirror, turning this way and that, pleased with how he looked.

"You're a vain little peacock in your shiny feathers," the sorceress mocked as she watched him.

"And you care nothing of your appearance, my Lady?" Jareth shot back. "You in your midnight satin and shimmering jewels. Tell me you didn't stand before this very mirror and angle back and forth to make sure the scoop of your gown fell across your breasts just the right way."

Sarah smiled, thoroughly pleased. "Why Jareth," she said in feigned surprise. "I didn't think you had noticed."

Jareth grunted and Sarah moved toward him and took his hands in hers. He had expected her touch to be cold and clammy, but her hands were surprisingly warm and soft. She drew him with her across the room and motioned for him to sit beside her on a cushioned settee. He did and she let her hand fall across his lap.

"What is it my Lady desires?" Jareth asked uncomfortably. The sorceress laughed.

"Only your company, my pet," she purred. "I am lonely in this place. I have no one to talk to besides my imps and they are not much for conversation." She looked up at the vaulted ceiling where the imps skittered and screeched before turning her attention back to Jareth. "Will you keep me company today? Talk to me? Sing for me?" she asked sweetly.

Jareth was caught off guard by her simple request. "What of my challenge?" he questioned.

The sorceress stroked his arm with a milky hand. "Tonight you will sing me a song about the greatest fool who ever lived," she told him. "Are you worried about finding your inspiration? You have found it among my subjects so far, have you not? Today you will find it in me perhaps." Her hand moved to his shoulder, slowly gliding over his collarbone. "Do you agree?"

Jareth nodded. "What do you wish to talk about?" he asked breathlessly as her thumb found the hollow of his neck.

"I wish to know who you are," she told him, her voice dark. "Who is this tiny mortal with a god's voice and an owl's wit?"

"I am no one," Jareth answered, pulling away from her. "I was born to simple parents who died when I was young. I was taught to play and sing. I write the songs that are in my head, nothing more."

"Why are your eyes so strange?"

"I don't know. I was born with these eyes. My mother always told me my dark eye was a gift from the fairies to ward off evil, but I never believed her."

"Rightly so," laughed the sorceress. She fingered Jareth's ruffled collar. "What questions do you have for me?" she asked.

Jareth stared at her for a moment before answering. "What is your name?"

Sarah drew back, surprised by his question. "I—I am called by many names," she stammered. "But none that I can give you."

"Why not?"

Sarah sighed. "For my kind, to give one's name is to open oneself up to all manner of trouble. My name is my protection. I keep it to myself."

"What may I call you then?" inquired Jareth. The sorceress gave him another sweet smile.

"Whatever you wish," she whispered. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek and his breath caught in his throat. Leaning in again she kissed his right eye, then his left. He sighed audibly and cursed himself. The sorceress laid a delicate hand against the curve of his jaw and pulled his face closer to hers. His heart pounded as her lips moved to his and just before they touched, he jumped off the settee and rounded on her.

"No!" he cried. "Evil witch, you're trying to trick me. You're trying to distract me from the challenge!"

Sarah scoffed at him. "You silly creature, sit down. Trust me, pet, I have no desire to stop you from fulfilling your end of our bargain. I desire to know you more." She looked up at him with smoldering eyes. "Do you desire to know me, Jareth?" She patted the cushioned seat beside her and he hesitantly reseated himself.

"I'm becoming fond of you," Sarah said as she raked her blood-red nails through his golden hair. "The challenge is a formality. Fulfill it and earn your freedom if, by that time, you still wish to be free," she added with a wink. She brushed a pale finger over his arched eyebrow and gazed deep into his eyes. "I wish I could keep you," she whispered.

"I think you would quickly tire of me, Lady," Jareth told her.

"Perhaps," she said, searching his face. Her eyes fell on his lips, thin, but pink and pleasant. His lower lip curled ever so slightly when he sang, making him look a bit dangerous and wild.

His strange eyes found hers and held her gaze. She peered deep into his large dark pupil and saw swirls of stars and nebulae spinning and moving and imploding in on themselves before reshaping into constellations. His eye seemed to pulse with all the mysteries of the Cosmos, drawing her into it like a sucking black hole. She closed her eyes to shut out the hypnotic dance of the stars and felt his mouth press warm against hers. His lips were sweet from cream and nymph kisses and she moved her lips over them, savoring him.

Jareth's arms wound around her waist and he pulled her into his chest as his mouth moved over hers. Their tongues glided against one another and Sarah moaned aloud. She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting her fingers get lost in his mass of silken hair. She wanted him, this pitiful human, this ridiculous mortal. She wanted him to kiss her senseless and hold her and caress her and make love to her.

Sarah laughed out loud as she pulled herself out his arms. "Go," she panted. "Write your song. Complete my challenge. Free yourself."

Jareth stared at her unblinking. His lovely lips were red and swollen and she could imagine that his lips weren't the only part of him that was.

"Did you not hear me, my pet?" she asked, her voice tinged with anger. "I said for you to go. You have a song to write unless you forfeit the challenge right now."

Jareth made no reply, but stood and angrily snatched up his guitar before stalking from the room. He stomped down the winding stairs and down an echoing hall, cursing as he walked. How dare that evil witch! She had teased and taunted him and toyed with him. He stopped and leaned against the cold stone wall and closed his eyes. Her kiss had been so sweet, so intoxicating. He touched his hand to his lips which were still tingling from the caress of hers. He had wanted her. Only for a brief, breathless moment, but in that moment he had desired her so completely he had almost forgotten that he was her captive, she his jailor.

Jareth shook his head and pushed off the wall with a sigh. "She's a duplicitous bitch," he reminded himself. "Don't fall for her games. Don't play the fool." His eyes widened at the thought, and with a determined nod, he took up his guitar and thoughtfully strummed.  
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The fire in the sorceress's chamber crackled as Jareth let his fingers glide over the sharp strings of the guitar. His fingertips were toughening and the strings no longer bit so fiercely into his flesh. He looked out at the sorceress, sitting passively on her carved throne, her face unreadable. He strummed a minor chord on the guitar and began to sing.

_Daft and delirious giddy as ghouls_

_Mad and mysterious, both of them fools_

_He, the vain Love in his prime and his peak_

_She, the pure Dove, demure, mild and meek_

_He jibes and he jiggles and sings odes to her hair_

_She blushes and giggles and kisses the air_

_They stutter and mumble and fall 'neath the moon_

_They rut and they tumble and find that too soon_

_Their ardor has cooled, their gold turned to brass_

_Their hearts have been fooled and lay shattered like glass_

_Their glances are spears, poison in each embrace_

_No kisses, but tears lie cold on each face_

_But with the change of the sun and the rise of tide_

_They find a new one to play young groom and bride_

_They flatter and flutter and prattle in vain_

_And make themselves and each other fools once again_

Jareth leaned the guitar against the hearth and smiled smugly at the sorceress. She raised an eyebrow at him, but returned his smile.

"Did you enjoy my song, my Lady?" he asked as he strode boldly to stand before her.

"Yes," she replied, offering him her hand. He took it and kissed it before pulling her with a yank up from her seat and hard against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and stared down hard into her pale face.

"Don't think to make a fool of me," Jareth snarled before kissing her fiercely. She clung to him desperately, running her hands across his firm chest and over his shoulders as they tasted one another. He released her lips and pushed her away from him and she stared into the fire, her breathing ragged and her face flushed.

"Till tomorrow, my Lady," he said calmly and bowed. He then turned on his heel and left her studying the flames.

Sarah sank, boneless, into her chair. The chains around her waist had fallen away with Jareth's song, but a new cord had formed around her heart. It hung heavy on her chest, tightening with every breath and every thought of the mortal. A cold tear slid down her ivory cheek as she fought the swelling tide of emotion down. This could not be. Jareth was her freedom. He and his voice and his words were beautiful, but she could not afford to be swayed by any feelings of tenderness. She was so close to emancipation at last. She hung her head and wept bitterly as the fire died and the room fell dark and cold.


	6. The Greatest Crossroad

Chapter 6: The Greatest Crossroad

The little fox lifted his shiny black nose and pensively sniffed the air. There was something different lingering among the scents of stagnant water and marshy earth, something warm and organic. He scampered out to the clearing and peered off into the distance. Sure enough, he saw a tall figure stalking among the gnarled rotten trees and twisting black ivy. The fox quickly climbed up a hollow oak and took a lookout perch on one of its top branches. From there he could see the figure more clearly, a man, and one none too happy. The man mumbled to himself and jabbed the moist earth and dead trees with a sharpened stick as he walked. The little fox took note of the man's appearance: well-dressed, if not a bit rumpled, with a pleasing face, though grimacing. He had a rich voice as well, although the fox's sensitive ears could clearly make out the curses and swears he muttered under his breath.

"Treacherous bitch," the man grumbled and threw down the stick. "Made a fool of you. So damned alluring. I ought to go back to that bloody castle and throw her down on the floor and-"

"Halt! Who goes there?" called the fox as he swung gracefully out of the tree and landed on his hind feet in front of the cursing man. The man stopped, surprised, and eyed him up and down.

"Who are you?" he asked warily.

"I am Sir Didymus," the fox answered, holding his ground. Jareth blinked and rubbed his eyes, not quite believing what he saw before him. The fox stood straight and proud, even though he came only to just above Jareth's knees. He was decked out in a tiny red and gold striped waistcoat, a blue hat made of crushed velvet and topped with a large feather, and an eye patch over one eye. He held a thin staff in one of his furry paws.

" _Sir_ Didymus?" Jareth asked as he stared down at the small creature. "You are a knight?"

"Verily," replied the fox. "I was a knight in these lands for many years before..." he paused, not wanting to continue.

Jareth bent down on one knee in front of the little fox. "Before what?" he asked.

The tiny knight shook his head. "T'is nothing," he said. "Pray, who might thou be? Art thou friend or foe?" He raised the little staff and waved it in the air.

"My name is Jareth, and if you are a knight of these lands, I am a friend," Jareth told him and the fox lowered the staff and smiled.

"What hath brought thee to this forsaken place, young Jareth?" he questioned.

Jareth stood and sighed and began pacing in front of the dead oak. "I have been given a challenge," he replied. "I must write seven songs for the sorceress in order to be granted my freedom from her."

"Ah, a quest," the fox said wistfully. "How dost thou fair?"

"I have provided three of the seven songs," Jareth told the knight. "I wrote songs about the greatest magic, the greatest treasure and the greatest fool. I am searching for the answer to this day's challenge, a great crossroad."

The sorceress had given him his challenge early that morning. He had awakened to find her gazing icily down at him with her arms folded over her chest.

"Tonight I want a song about the greatest crossroad," she had told him coldly before transforming into an ebony raven and flying out the open window. He saw her no more that morning and, after taking breakfast, he had set out into the dead forest to seek inspiration.

"Hmm..." mused the fox, rubbing his fuzzy chin with his tiny staff. "A puzzle for certain." He looked up at the bewildered man. "Take care with the sorceress, my good fellow," he said. "She is a wily and cunning woman."

"As I've already discovered," muttered Jareth to himself, but the little fox's ears picked up what he said. He shook his head and his long feather danced from side to side.

"I offer my protection should you require it," the knight said gallantly. "I took up defense against that evil sorceress and her dark magic before and I am unafraid to do it once again!" He brandished his staff, thrusting and parrying at the air.

Jareth looked down at the diminutive knight with wide eyes. "You have fought her before? When? How?" He pulled his guitar off his shoulder and leaned it against the oak before taking a seat on the ground next to Sir Didymus. "Tell me what you know."

The fox seated himself on the ground and cleared his throat. "T'was many, many years ago," he began. "This land was once rich, vibrant, beautiful. I guarded it and its sovereign. I was one of the elite knights, duty bound to protect the kingdom and its ruler, and this I did. Until..."

"Until what?"

Sir Didymus sighed sadly and continued. "The sorceress came with magic too powerful. She drove out most of the knights and destroyed our beloved sovereign. I tried to vanquish her, but to no avail. I was banished to this forest where I have remained."

Jareth was thoughtful for a moment as he considered the knight's tale. "Why did she come here, Sir Didymus? What purpose was there in destroying a beautiful kingdom?"

"I am not certain," answered Didymus, "but I have heard tell that the Lady has a curse upon her. She is said to be bound by a terrible spell, cursed and chained to death and decay. She was a pupil of the Morrigan, and is believed to have wronged her in some way. As punishment, she was put under the bond of waste and isolation."

Jareth thought of the dark, dangerous woman in the castle living in a land of rot and exile. What had she done to merit such punishment? He knew she was devious, perhaps evil, but what crime was deserving of such a curse? He felt a twinge of guilt at his treatment of her the night before. She had desired his company, desired him, and he had thrown it back in her face.

Still, he thought, she had laid waste to what was once a place of life and beauty. He looked around at the rotten trees and the soggy ground and the cold grey sky. Was that all her doing, or was it part of her curse? How much of her darkness was a reflection of who she truly was, and how much of it was the spell under which she dwelt? Could he ever trust her? Could he trust this little so-called knight or anyone in this god-forsaken land?

He cursed aloud and Sir Didymus tisked. "What troubles thee?" he asked.

"I'm confused," admitted Jareth. "I can't tell what the truth is. The ground is the ceiling and the sky is the floor." He shook his head in frustration. "How can I answer her riddles when I can't figure the woman out? What does she want from me? She asks for my company and then teases and makes a fool of me. She is tender one moment and a dagger of ice the next." He leaned glumly against the hollow oak and closed his eyes. "I don't know if I should offer her my love or the back of my hand."

"Tread carefully, my friend," warned Sir Didymus. "The Lady is not to be trusted."

Jareth let out a long sigh. "You would think it foolish of me to open myself to her?"

"I would consider it unwise," the knight answered flatly. "However, I am a soldier. It is my nature to fight. Thou dost wish to love, dost thou not?"

Jareth shrugged, but made no reply and Sir Didymus continued. "Thou art noble to imagine that she can be saved by thy love, but take care. Some spells cannot be undone by True Love's first kiss. Some curses cannot be lifted with tender words, but with harsh actions. Some chains are broken only by the breaking of a heart."

A silence fell between them then and they looked toward the castle where a large raven swooped down out of the low-hanging clouds and circled a high tower before disappearing.

"Thy choice lies before thee, Jareth," the fox said quietly. "Wilt thou be a lover or a soldier?"

"The crossroad," Jareth breathed, the understanding dawning on him.

The little knight patted his arm and smiled kindly. "Thou hast found thine inspiration?"

Jareth nodded and stood and fetched his guitar. Sir Didymus followed, dusting off his vibrant waistcoat and fluffing his feather. "I bid thee good luck, my friend," he said, extending a furry paw to Jareth. Jareth took it, thanking him.

"If you should need me..." offered the fox as Jareth walked off toward the castle. Jareth paused and turned and looked back at the knight.

"I'll call you," he told him. Sir Didymus gave him a low bow before disappearing back into the decaying forest.

Jareth juggled the decision back and forth in his mind while he walked. His steps were more sure now, his determination stronger. With each task completed, he had felt a surge of power in his mind and body. It spiraled around his limbs and crowned his head. It sank into his bones and pumped into his blood. He was gaining ground against the sorceress and it boosted his confidence. He could possibly defeat her, or he could attempt to free them both.

His devilish guitar thumped against his back as he strode purposefully back toward the sorceress's castle. He needed to know more before he could decide on a course of action. He needed to get his hands on the black book in her chamber. She had said it contained histories, most likely her own, judging by her reaction to it. Perhaps if he could read the book, he could discover how she came to be cursed. If so, he could find a way to free her.

He made up his mind then. He would give the sorceress her song, he would play her game, and he would find a way to get his hands on the mysterious book and learn its secrets. Then he would decide whether to make love or war.

********************************************************************************

 

_A puzzle, a riddle, a truth cloaked in code_

_A maze of the mind, a fork in the road:_

_To bed or to arms, to flee or pursue?_

_To make war with myself, or to make war with you?_

_To bind or to cherish, to spare or to spurn?_

_To aid or destroy, to nourish or burn?_

_Two paths lie before me, each one with a cost:_

_You or myself? Which one should be lost?_

_Shall I fight for my freedom or yield to your charms?_

_Throw myself into battle or into your arms?_

_Your mind is so cunning; your eyes are so cruel_

_Can I trust you to follow if I let my heart rule?_

_Shall I fear you or love you? Be humble or brave?_

_Shall I make you my sovereign or make you my slave?_

_One road must be chosen: To pair or to part?_

_The way of the Sword or the way of the Heart?_

He sang the words directly to her. He felt them as they left his lips and flew straight to her breast. He sensed her absorbing them, turning them over and letting them fill her. His eyes never left hers as he sang, and he saw their green depths well up with salty tears.

Twisting, tingling power burst through his core as the tears spilled from her eyes and onto her cheeks. Her chest heaved with heavy sobs even as his raged and rippled with magical energy. He wanted to roar in dark delight.

The sorceress rose slowly from her carved chair and stood before him, trembling with emotion and awe. Jareth gently wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb and she lowered her eyes.

"I—I wish to give you something," she whispered, her voice shaking.

"What is it?" Jareth asked, taking her chin in his hand and lifting her face to meet his gaze.

"My name," she replied. "My name is Sarah." Another tear trickled from her eye and down her pale cheek.

He stared into her tear-stained face for an agonizing moment before tightly grasping her and crushing his mouth to hers. He kissed her feverishly, and she returned his kisses in kind.

"Sarah," he gasped between breathless kisses. "Sarah."

Jareth waved his hand in a graceful circle and the fire in the hearth and the candles in the sconces died down to faint flickers. He gently gathered Sarah in his arms and carried her to her enormous silk-draped bed where they melted into the night and into one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Didymus is quite likely my favorite Jim Henson character and I have made him a fox here whether or not he really is one. He's always seemed fox-like to me. In this chapter, he is wily and clever, so the fox image held up in my mind.


	7. The Greatest Judgment

Jareth lay awake on his back in the early morning hours. The first shafts of cold grey light were beginning to filter through the frosted glass windows, streaking the stone floor in alternating stripes of light and dark. He would have to act soon if he planned to get his hands on the black book.

Jareth looked down at the sleeping woman at his side. She lay with a slight smile on her lips, her silky hair spilling in all directions over her pillow, her hands folded as if in prayer. Jareth kissed her bare shoulder and slid silently from the bed. He padded quietly toward the table where the book lay, careful not to make a sound and wake the sorceress or the snoring imps above in the rafters.

Reaching the table, he examined the thick black book. Its cover was beautifully ornate with bold lettering and gold filigree swirls along the edges. Figures of imps hid amongst the lettering on the cover, staring out at him as if to say, "Touch me, I dare you."

Jareth extended a hand and lightly touched the book's ebony cover. It shuddered and shivered beneath his fingers and sent an echoing tingle back through his fingertips. He drew back for a moment and turned to look at the bed. Sarah was still sleeping; he could see the gentle rise and fall of her chest. He turned back to the book. The imps on the cover were now smiling, encouraging him to lift the cover and read.

Slowly, quietly, he opened the book and looked at the first page. The elaborate scrolling letters were difficult for him to read at first, but he quickly deciphered them. The content itself was of little help or interest. It was all histories of gods and goddesses and battles and conquests, nothing about the sorceress.

Jareth sighed impatiently and flipped through the pages. He cursed silently as he thumbed through page after page of war histories and chronicles of deities.

"Where is Sarah?" he whispered to himself. As if in answer to his question, the leaves began flipping of their own accord, falling open at a page near the middle of the book. Jareth squinted in the dark, peering closer. The page contained an illuminated picture of a beautiful woman, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to the sorceress Sarah. She stood naked with her gaze forward and her arms outstretched. Looping chains were bound around her ankles, wrists, middle, neck, and head. Jareth studied the page carefully. Surely this was the curse that bound Sarah! He turned the page to read the passage describing her crimes and the curse brought down upon her by her former Teacher:

_Sarah, Serah, Sorcha, Sydelle, Zahra: Daughter of Coll the Summoner, Mistress of the Half Moon, Keeper of the Book of Secrets. Cursed of the Morrigan to dwell in shadow and decay as reckoning for the theft of spells and enchantments. Bound by the Book of Secrets until such time as the questions of Man are answered._

Jareth continued reading through the passage as the questions of Man were listed, questions with which he was already familiar.

_What is Man's greatest magic? What is his greatest treasure? Who is the greatest fool of all Men? What lay at Man's greatest crossroad? What is Man's greatest judgment? What is the—_

"Jareth?" called a female voice. He quietly closed the book and turned to look at Sarah. She was sitting up in the bed, stretching her arms in the dull light. The bedding was bunched around her waist, leaving her breasts and belly exposed.

"What are you doing, my love?" she asked sleepily. "Come back to bed." She patted the space on the mattress beside her and smiled. Jareth nodded and walked back to the large bed. Drawing back the covers, he slipped in beside her and pressed himself against her warm flesh. His chilled skin hummed to life as it touched the heat of her body.

"Sarah," he whispered as he nuzzled into the curve of her neck. She bent her face down to his and kissed his lips and he rose up to meet her. They made love as the dim morning light crept further into the corners of the room, dispelling the shadows and casting a glow over the grimacing gold imps on the Book of Secrets.  
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"Do you want today's challenge?" asked Sarah later as she ran her fingers through Jareth's hair, lightly massaging his scalp with her long nails and sending buzzing jolts of pleasure down his spine. She sat on the cushioned settee and he lay with his head in her lap, letting her pet and stroke him. He looked up at her and smiled.

"Yes, I do," he told her. He had expected her to show disappointment at him wishing to continue the challenge to earn his freedom, but her expression remained unchanged.

"Very well," she told him. "Tonight I want a song about the greatest of judgments."

Jareth smiled to himself. He had already known what the challenge would be; he had read it in the book. He was sorry that he had not been able to read more before she'd awakened, despite the pleasant distraction that followed. He wanted to know more about this strange woman. He wanted to know what secrets she so carefully guarded from him. She had given him her name, but little else. He knew that in order to defeat or free her, he had to know more of who and what she was.

He sat up and kissed her lips. "You are not upset that I am choosing to continue the challenge?" he asked.

Sarah laughed and stroked his cheek. "My love, I would be disappointed if you gave up so easily," she replied. She stood and pulled him to his feet and kissed him soundly. "Don't waste time, Jareth. The hour already grows late."

Jareth nodded, called his guitar to his hand and then headed off into the barren wilderness to answer the riddle and write his song.

"Each song is a key," he thought to himself as he walked in long strides over the marshy hillside. "The answer unlocks a bond. When the questions are answered, the chains are broken and another part of her is freed."

He wondered exactly what her freedom meant. Would the bonds simply fall away, giving her the power to free him as well? Or would the curse of darkness on her be lifted, making her something else entirely? Without the book, he couldn't know.

"How can I make this decision without knowing what I am up against?" he asked aloud. He looked up at the menacing clouds that hung low, threatening rain, and thought of her tears. She had wept when he sang of his love. He had moved her with his words, touched her heart with the depth of his emotions and in return, she had made passionate love to him. Surely that was a sign that the darkness in her could be broken. Perhaps, locked behind the curse, there was a sweet spirit that he could free and make his own.

The words of the passage in the book echoed through his mind. It described her as a thief, a keeper of secrets, the Mistress of the Half-Moon, light and dark, duplicitous. Jareth kicked at the soggy ground in frustration. How could he know whom to trust? How could he pass judgment on a woman for whom his heart ached, but his mind railed against?

His discovery of the answer to the riddle did little to soothe his disquieted spirits as he marched on across the muddy terrain to compose his song.  
***********************************************************************************************************************************

The book throbbed and warmed under Sarah's touch and the imps on the cover looked out at her with disdain. Her freedom was so close to being secured. She had seen Jareth looking at the book earlier that morning and wondered just how much he had read. He had said nothing of it to her, so she suspected he had not discovered much.

Her heart ached heavy in her chest under the burden of the awful truth. She would have to choose a path. She would have to pass a judgment on the mortal, a man she suspected she could love were she not so bent on freeing herself. He offered such warmth and passion. He had made love to her like no one ever had before, sweet and deep and tender.

She clutched at her breast as the cord around her heart tightened. It was unbearable, a ghastly, grossly unfair choice. To remain bound was unthinkable, even for Jareth's sake. However, freeing herself meant either binding him, or giving him the power to destroy her. She hung her head as a tear spattered onto the cover of the black book, hissing and dissolving into vapor.

"Show me Jareth," she said between choking sobs. The book thumped open and Sarah leaned forward to gaze at the image of **Things That May Be.**

She groaned at the picture she was shown. Jareth, regal and beautiful, stood with his hand outstretched, holding a crystal sphere. His face was as handsome as always, but his eyes were so sad and tired. Sarah peered closer. There was another person in the picture, a female, but her features were blurred and distorted. Jareth was holding out the crystal to her in offering, a pleading look of desperation marring his noble features.

Sarah closed her eyes and spoke again to the book. "Show me later days for Jareth," she said softly. The pages turned again and opened to another picture. Sarah gasped and her hand flew to her mouth at what she saw. Jareth sat alone in the dark, pale and emaciated. His back was hunched over in despair, his skin stretched tight against his sharp shoulder blades, giving him the appearance of a living skeleton. The darkness surrounded him on all sides, but in one small corner there was a faint shimmer. Leaning in as far as she could to look closer, Sarah was able to make out the image of a woman. The woman's face was hidden in the glow of the crystal she carried. She stood with the crystal stretched out toward the shallow hull of Jareth, its light piercing through the blackness of his prison.

The Book of Secrets snapped shut and Sarah jumped backwards. Her mind whirled with the images she had seen. She knew that the pictures were of a future yet woven. The threads were laid out into a pattern for the tapestry, but they had yet to pass through the loom of Time. Once they were woven into the frame, there was no changing them. Until then, the threads were in flux, variable.

"What tapestry shall I weave?" Sarah asked herself. "Shall I bind this mortal with the threads of my choosing or shall I give the weft over to him?" She opened the double window and sat down on the stone alcove. She could see Jareth's tall, proud form stalking confidently over the hills toward the cliffside. He was gaining strength even as she was loosed. Sarah had seen the small manifestations of his power in the last day and knew that with every completed task he would receive even more magic.

"If he breaks the curse, he must choose my fate," she sighed sadly. "I must decide now as well. Do I damn myself to eternal chains, or do I punish a man whose only crime is loving me?"  
**************************************************************************************************************

Jareth sat against the cliffside and listlessly strummed his guitar, his fingers now easily gliding over the strings without pain. He frowned though, as he played. The words which normally came to him as easily as a dream had suddenly become elusive. He knew it was from the swirling storm in his brain over the choice he knew he must make.

He had to decide whether to believe what he had been told regarding Sarah, or to trust his heart and what he felt to be the truth. The dwarf gardener and the fox knight had both warned him to be wary of the sorceress. The Book of Secrets labeled her untrustworthy. Still, his heart desperately wanted to believe that she was a victim of circumstance, that her darkness lay not in her nature, but in the curse. He wanted to believe he could save her and be saved by her.

"I'll never finish the song this way," Jareth announced bitterly. His head pounded from hours of fierce concentration. "Where can I find the words?" he asked the sky.

The storm on the horizon seemed to match the one in his brain. Black clouds loomed ominously and thunder rumbled, shaking the ground. A charged breeze blew up across the cliffside and a whispered echo brushed his ear. "The magic," it sighed.

"Yes," breathed Jareth, leaning his head back against the cold cliff wall and closing his eyes. "Magic."

"You have the power. You have the power. You have the power..." chanted the bodiless voice.

The Power. Jareth loved the power. It both terrified and thrilled him when he felt it burning beneath his fingertips. It was getting stronger, making him stronger. He could wield it and shape it and use it to do his bidding. He could use it to find the words.

Jareth took a deep breath and let his body go slack against the cliff wall. He released his hold on the natural world and let himself slip into the uncertain place between. The air pulsed around him as he drifted out of himself and down the spiraling vortex of **What Is** and **What Was** and **What Is To Come**.

Opening his eyes, he found himself standing in an impossible room. There were stairs going up and down and left and right, except there was no up or down or left or right. The room was without a center of gravity and what seemed to be the ceiling may have been the floor and vice versa. Jareth looked all around. Arched passages led to stairs going nowhere and everywhere. He followed one set of stairs downward, yet found himself going higher. He turned to the left, yet ended up further right. He climbed and searched for a way out, a path that made sense, and was soon frustrated and disoriented. He sat down on the sheer edge of the stairs and looked down. Below him on a landing sat a wreck of a man. Jareth could not see his face, only his tangled hair and hunched back covered in rags.

"You there!" he called. "How do I get down?" The man made no reply, didn't even look up. "Hello," he called again, the sound bouncing off the stone steps and the walls. He received no answer.

Rising to his feet, Jareth gazed around the nonsensical room. It was a room of uncertainty, a room where one could wander forever. It was a room in which decisions were made and the truth found, not by following a sensible path, but by taking a leap of faith. Jareth looked down again at the man below him. The man had begun rocking back and forth, softly humming. The tune echoed through Jareth's soul and mind like a lost memory.

"No, not a memory," he told himself, "A dream. A dream of things yet to be." He took a deep breath and bent his knees and leapt from the ledge, spreading his arms like wings. Time seemed to slow as he fell. He drifted as gracefully and as light as a feather to the stone landing and his feet softly touched the ground. He looked up and saw that he was no longer in the impossible room, but a musty nine-sided chamber with slime covered walls and little light. The man in rags squatted in the center of room, his long matted hair hanging from his dark hood like dead brown weeds.

"Who are you?" Jareth asked. The man was silent, except for his low hum.

"Why am I here? Where are my words?" Jareth demanded. Again, he was met with only humming

Jareth strode forward and leaned in close to the man to hear the familiar song. The melody was simple, but filled with deep emotion. It rose and fell like waves, carrying him forward and backward in Time, sweeping him further out to a place of darkness and uncertainty. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the music. The tune rang louder in his ears like iron bells, clanging and rattling him to his core. His eyes and teeth ached from the thundering echo.

"What do you sing?" he pleaded, plugging his ears. The humming stopped. The man didn't look up, but his voice swirled like mist around Jareth, seeming to come from all directions as he answered.

"I sing a song of judgment," rapsed the man. His voice sounded like broken glass.

Jareth snapped to attention at the man's response. "A song of judgment?" he hissed angrily. "Judgment of whom?"

"Of you perhaps," came the soft reply. "Of your heart, your mind, your soul. Do you think me fit to judge you?"

"No, I do not," Jareth spat. "You don't know me. You don't know who I am."

"Ah, but I do," creaked the shriveled man. "I know who you were. I know who you are. I know who you will be if you do not heed my warning. There is still time for you to escape." He paused and seem to shrink into himself even further. "There is no time for me," he continued sadly. "My tapestry is woven, my fate sealed. But for you there is still time-"

"I know how to escape, you wretched fool," Jareth snapped. "I know the answer to the challenge, but I need the words. I need the song."

"I have a song," the wrecked man sighed, "but it is not for you." He pulled his cloak around himself and turned away.

"Please," Jareth begged. "I need your song to buy my freedom."

"Hmph!" grunted the man and laughed to himself. "You don't even know what it is you're buying."

"Tell me," said Jareth. "Tell me what to do. What do I do?" He threw his hands in the air in frustration. "What am I to do about Sarah?"

"Sarah?" the man said in a breathless whisper. "I know that name." He scrambled around on the dirt floor as if searching for something precious he had lost. "Yes. Yes, I know Sarah," he chanted. "Sarah. Where is Sarah? I was lost...no, not lost...sleeping. I slept..."

"What are you babbling about?" cursed Jareth impatiently. "I need the song, the song of judgment."

The man in rags stopped in his frantic searching of the dust and groaned. "No," he said. "Not that song. I gave _her_ that song. She tore it out of my soul and made me sleep." He began to sob. "Sarah. Sarah, I'm so sorry!"

Jareth growled angrily as the man wept and writhed on the floor. The dark power surged in his breast as he loomed over the broken man. His fingers burned with unleashed magic.

"Give me the song," he commanded, trying to maintain his composure.

"No," the man sobbed.

Finally loosing control, Jareth let the power flood from his fingertips like blue lightning. The bolt of magical energy struck the man and tossed him across the small room. He landed with a thud against the slimy wall before sliding to the floor. Jareth furiously stalked over and grabbed him and hoisted him up from the floor by his ragged cloak. The man kept his head lowered to the ground, his face hidden from view.

"Give it to me!" Jareth growled, shaking the ragged man. The man made no attempt to break free as he was abused. "I must have your song!" Jareth cried in desperation. He loosened his grip on the man and let him fall to the floor. He covered his face with his hands as the man crumpled to the ground and lay still. Jareth wondered if he were dead until he moved slightly and sighed.

"Very well," whispered the wretch at last. "But whatever you do, do not give this song to _her_."

Jareth didn't have to ask who he meant, and he didn't care why. He would do what he must to free himself and Sarah. What did this wreck of a human being know anyway?

He knelt down to the ruined man on the floor.

"The song..." he whispered impatiently.

The man nodded beneath his tattered cloak. "Close your eyes," he instructed.

Jareth did as he was told and felt the man lean in to his face. His breath was hot against Jareth's lips, close enough to touch in a kiss. He blew his words into Jareth's mouth. They flowed in as thick and sweet as honey, but turned bitter as they passed over his tongue and rushed down into his body. Jareth gasped as the words burned through his veins and cold, tingling power zigzagged across his nerve endings. He bit his bottom lip against the beautiful pain.

"I mean what I say, young Jareth," the ragged figure spoke gravely. "Do not give it to her."

"I'll do whatever I wish-" Jareth snapped, opening his eyes to look at the man. He stopped, wide-eyed with horror as the man's cloak fell back and he could see his face for the first time. A pair of mismatched eyes glared back from a sunken skull of a face. The man's mouth, _his_ mouth, curled into a wild sneer.

"Wake up, you fool!" his doppelganger screamed.

Jareth jolted upright from the rock wall, a terrified shriek still on his lips, as the vision was broken and he returned to the natural world. The rain had begun in earnest, falling in cold, heavy drops upon his head. He stumbled away from the cliffside and took shelter under a small ledge. His heart was pounding and he felt a chill run through his blood at the memory of what he had seen. Drawing his knees against his chest, he rested his pounding head on them.

"It was just a dream," he told himself. "A vision of things that may happen, not a prophecy of things that are certain to come to pass."

His head throbbed and his stomach churned as he tried to shake away the horrific images. The vision was cryptic, at best. That man, his future self, warned him not to give the song to the sorceress, yet he cried and called out for Sarah. It made no sense. Why were there no clear answers? Jareth thought of the impossible room of stairs. It had no clear path, only shifting perceptions and endless twists and turns. His leap from the ledge had brought him to the man and the song. Perhaps that was what was called for in his judgment of Sarah. Perhaps he must step out into the void of uncertainty and trust that he would land on his feet.

Jareth shook his head, still uncertain. It was all so unfair.

His hands were shaking as he took up his guitar to play the melody that still echoed in his mind.  
******************************************************************************************************************************

"I give you my song of judgment," Jareth told Sarah as he stood before her in her chambers. "A song of the heart and the mind. Of perceived truth and whispered hope. Of love and trust, freedom and forgiveness."

The sorceress nodded from her throne for him to continue. She had been very quiet that evening, pensive. Her pale face was drawn tight, her brow furrowed in thought. She wore a shimmering gown of vibrant purple with a tightly fitted bodice and a slit up the side that came almost to her hip. Her hair was woven into a long shining braid that fell over her creamy shoulder.

Jareth breathed deeply and strummed a clashing chord on the guitar. The discordant notes stirred the imps above his head and they flapped and squealed in agitation as the sounds rang up into the rafters.

_Only you are fit to judge this case._  
 _Four locks stand betwixt me and my rightful place._  
 _I'll cause harm to those of good and evil nature_  
 _And arbitrary joy; such is my stature._  
 _But here I wait and am constrained._  
 _Bound forever, bound by name._

_Only you are able to open your box._  
 _Bound round about with magical locks._  
 _No wickedness done should earn such pain_  
 _Nor any joy you give excuse constraint._  
 _I say awake you, and then be free._  
 _I absolve you. Let another absolve me._

The last notes faded and the room began to spin around Jareth. He dropped the wicked guitar and stumbled to the wall to brace himself. He looked out and saw Sarah staring at him in bewilderment.

"Sarah..." he called to her as the scene began to darken. "Sarah, I..." His words faded to silence as the world went black.


	8. The Greatest Prison

Jareth's body pulsed and burned. His skin felt singed and raw. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were heavy, his lashes matted with grit. When he finally managed to open his eyes, the light flooded in, sending sharp daggers into his forehead. He closed his eyes again and moaned.

"Jareth?" Sarah called from somewhere in the dark. "Are you awake?"

He groaned in reply and felt her warm hand brush against his clammy cheek.

"Look at me, my love," she told him. With effort, he pried his eyes open again and looked up into her face. She smiled down at him, her eyes sparkling.

"I thought you were dead," she said, relief apparent in her voice.

Jareth groaned again as he tried to move and Sarah laid a hand upon his chest. "Shhh..." she said. "Lie still. You're hurt."

"I'm fine," he managed to utter. He painfully pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked around. He was still in the sorceress's chambers. Somehow, he'd ended up in her enormous bed.

"What happened?" he asked her.

The sorceress shook her head. "I'm not certain," she answered. "You sang the song and then you collapsed. My imps put you in the bed and I've been tending to you. I was afraid..." Her voice faded out and she looked away.

Jareth reached out his hand and laid it over hers. "Thank you," he whispered.

"I've sent for a Healer," Sarah told him. "He will know what to do for you."

"What about my challenge?" Jareth asked.

Sarah tried not to let him see her frown. He was still determined to continue, despite what had happened. She knew she should rejoice that the final riddles were close to being answered. Their completion would release her, but if she failed to maintain control over her mortal captive, he would have the power to destroy her. She had witnessed the surge of power that had overwhelmed him the night before. He was changing, becoming more than human, more than mortal.

Sarah gave him a weak smile. "Tonight you will sing a song of the greatest prison," she said. "But for now, you must rest and let my Healer attend you."

Jareth opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by three loud knocks on the door.

"That will be the Healer," she told Jareth before turning toward the door. "Come," she called.

The heavy door creaked open and an ancient man slowly shuffled in. He was human in appearance, short, with a wizened face, and long white trailing whiskers under a large nose. He wore a ragged cloak that dusted the floor as he walked, spectacles atop his brow and a bird-shaped hat on his head. The hat looked around as the old man entered the room.

"This place gives me the heebie-jeebies," it squawked.

"Quiet," huffed the Healer. "We have a patient."

"Hmph!" grunted the hat. "You never have any patience for _me_." It laughed at its pun and the old man rolled his eyes and sighed.

Jareth watched the pair in wonder, the old man advancing toward the bed at a snail's pace and the hat bobbing back and forth and reacting to its surroundings. The hat looked up at imps roosting near the ceiling and balked.

"Whatever you're feeding your bats, you should stop," it told the sorceress. She made no reply, but her icy glare was enough to silence the chatty hat. It settled down nervously onto the old man's head.

"I need you to tend to this man, Wiseman," Sarah told the Healer. "He has been injured. I know little of mortals, but you do, do you not?"

The Healer nodded and slowly hobbled toward the bed. He stood over Jareth and carefully looked him over from head to toe. Jareth watched as the old man's eyes narrowed and widened, his brow furrowing, his mouth pursing thoughtfully. Finally, he grunted and turned to Sarah.

"I can mend him," he told her gruffly. "However, you must leave us."

The sorceress raised an eyebrow and regarded him suspiciously, but didn't argue. "Very well," she replied. Gathering her cloak around her, she leaned down and kissed Jareth's lips. "Be well, my love," she whispered to him before turning and leaving the room.

When she had gone, the hat laughed and made kissing noises. "What was all that about?" it chuckled.

"Never you mind," the Healer snapped at his hat. "We must take care of our young patient." He reached out a hand and touched Jareth's chest with a long, shriveled finger. Jareth flinched and pushed the old man's hand away.

"I'm fine," he protested. "I appreciate your assistance, but I really am all right."

The Wiseman groaned. "You do not even know what you are, young man."

"I am Jareth. I'm a musician. A human."

"You may be Jareth the musician," the old man drawled, "but you are far from human. The transforming magic is strong. It would have destroyed you if you had not had Youth and stubbornness on your side. Somehow you survived the surge."

Jareth stared at the ancient figure in stunned silence.

"Wh—what do you mean?" he stammered at last.

"He means you aren't just a little flesh-puppet anymore," the hat chattered. It turned its funny head sideways and studied him. "He's right," the hat continued. "You're on your way to being a full-fledged-"

"Be quiet!" bellowed the Healer. The bird-hat grunted and stuck its beak in the air.

"What am I?" Jareth asked, panic rising in his chest.

The old man leaned in close to where his patient rested propped against the pillows. "You are more than you realize," he whispered. "You feel the power, do you not?"

Jareth nodded. He did feel the power. It grew stronger every day. It was a torrent within him as he lay in bed with the Healer hovering over him. His skin hummed with it.

The old man frowned and moved back, seating himself in a chair near the bed. "You feel the power, but not the chains."

Jareth looked down at his arms and legs. "I have no chains," he answered.

"None that you can see," replied the Healer. "They are there all the same. Oftentimes, the things we perceive as our strengths are what bind us."

"You speak in riddles, Old Man," Jareth retorted. "If you aren't going to be any more help than that, you can just leave."

The old man gave a long sigh. "These young ones," he told the hat. "They never listen."

He reached into his flowing cloak and took out several pouches of herbs and a vial of greenish liquid. The Healer carefully measured out the herbs before adding some of the liquid and mixing them together with a mortar and pestle. He poured the mixture into a wooden bowl and gave it to Jareth to drink. Jareth sniffed the mixture before drinking it down in one gulp, shuddering at the elixir's bitterness.

"What is this?" he asked, frowning into the empty bowl.

"It will help you regain your strength and hopefully give you clarity," answered the Wiseman. He looked gravely at Jareth. "The power you gain comes with a price, young Jareth," he told him. "You will have to make a choice."

Jareth scowled. "I know what choice I will have to make," he replied bruskly. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood. On wobbly knees, he walked to the window and looked out over the barren land. "I have to choose whether to stay here with the sorceress or free myself and escape this cursed place."

"No," the Wiseman said, shaking his huge, round head. "That is not the choice you must make." Jareth turned away from the window and stared at him and the old man continued. "Your choice is not between freedom and captivity. It is between love and death."

"I don't understand," Jareth told him.

The Healer pointed toward the table where the Book of Secrets lay. "Read the book, Jareth," he said. "You will find the truth inside."

Jareth eyed the thick book. His fingertips tingled with the urge to call it to his hand. He shook the feeling away.

"Why can't you tell me the truth, Old Man? If you know so much..."

"You will believe only what truth you discover for yourself," replied the Healer. "You've sought the answers to the riddles, yet you've turned aside from the greatest one. You've chosen to believe pretty words spoken by pretty lips."

Jareth looked once more over the muddy, brown plain. "Is there no good in her?" he asked softly.

"Hmph!" squawked the hat. "If there is, you would have to mine it out with a pickax!"

The Wiseman shuffled over to where Jareth stood and laid a withered hand on his shoulder. "You've been given power, my young friend. You survived the transforming magic, but do not think you're strong enough to withstand this ancient spell. Don't sentence yourself to a cursed existence."

"Is that it then?" Jareth asked solemnly. "Is that the answer to the question of the greatest prison? It is one of our own making?"

"I am an old man," answered the Healer. "I dwell in a cage of brittle bones with Time and Memory as my jailors and Regret as my Torturer. They call me the Wiseman, but I am only wise from years of mistakes made and lessons learned. I can offer you advice, but I cannot force you to take it. Ultimately you must make the choice to heed what you've been told, or to follow your own truth. I tell you only this: read the book and then decide between the key and the sword."

Jareth was silent for a long moment as he reflected on the old man's words. He looked back at the Book of Secrets and felt it humming, beckoning to him. He knew the Healer was right. He had to make up his own mind, but only after he learned the full truth for himself, and obviously, the Book of Secrets was so named for a reason.

"I will try to get the book tonight," he told the old man softly. "Can you give me something to make the sorceress sleep?"

The Healer nodded and rifled through the folds of his ragged cloak before drawing out a small box. He pressed it into Jareth's hand. "A pinch of this in her wine will assure that she will sleep soundly. Take care, my friend, and good luck to you." He gave Jareth a kind smile before turning to leave.

"Wiseman," called Jareth as the Healer reached the door and turned back for a moment.

"Do you think I'm a fool for loving her?"

The old man smiled wistfully. "I think you have always loved her, young Jareth. I think you will always love her."

Jareth didn't fully understand the man's words, but he smiled and nodded and bid the Healer and his hat good day. He could hear the hat resume its chattering as soon as they stepped into the hall.

"Do you really think that love-sick ninny is going to listen to you?" the hat squawked.

"There's always hope," replied the old man.

Jareth studied the small wooden box the Healer had given him for a moment before tucking it snuggly into his pocket.  
**********************************************************************************************

"I'm glad you are recovered," Sarah told Jareth as they sat together by the fire. "You had me worried." She touched his shoulder lightly and he smiled. She had stayed by his side for most of the day, feeding him sweet fruits and delicate pastries. Sarah had kissed him tenderly and whispered soft promises into his ear as she lay at his side on the draped bed, the picture of a dutiful lover.

"Your Healer gave me herbs," Jareth replied. "I felt their effects almost immediately."

"Yes," said Sarah with a nod. "He has a talent for herbal medicine, but I must question his taste in hats."

Jareth laughed and kissed her on the cheek. "Agreed," he said. He stood and moved toward the onyx table that held the Book of Secrets and also the decanter of wine. "Wine, my love?" he asked the sorceress and she nodded. Jareth gave the book a sideways glance as he cautiously slipped the little wooden box out his pocket. Opening it carefully, he withdrew a small pinch of the grey dried herbs inside and dropped it into Sarah's glass. He stuffed the box back into his pocket, poured the wine and delivered the glass to the sorceress. "Here you are," he said, raising his glass in a toast. "Here's to recovery and to another completed challenge."

Sarah set her glass down beside her, untouched. "Oh?" she questioned. "You have written the song of the greatest prison?"

"I have," Jareth answered a bit more forcefully than he intended. He was bothered by the fact that she wasn't drinking her wine. Did she possibly suspect what he had done? He recovered himself and smiled at her. "Would you care to hear it?"

"Of course," replied Sarah. She leaned back against the cushions of the settee as Jareth took his guitar and strummed a mournful minor chord.

_A cell of flesh, a shell of skin_

_A bloody cage with bars of bone_

_The darkness of regret within_

_He sits forgotten and alone_

_"I remember, I remember"_

_He sings his mournful song_

_Deep in his December_

_When the nights are cold and long_

_And his mem'ries are bitter_

_And his tapestry is torn_

_From his yanking at the threading_

_Till the picture's faded, worn_

_"I remember, I remember"_

_He concocts a different Truth_

_To douse the glowing ember_

_Of the follies of his Youth_

_Unable to correct the past_

_Unable to amend_

_He calls a truce with Time at last_

_And makes Regret his friend_

_"I remember, I remember"_

_He sings of days of ol'_

_In his dark and mournful timbre_

_In the prison of his soul_

With the last dying echoes of the final note, Sarah felt the bindings around her neck fall away. She choked back a moan as she brought her hands to her throat and felt the invisible chains disintegrate. Laughing, she picked up her glass of wine and held it high. "Now we may toast to challenges complete," she told Jareth. He put his guitar down and retrieved his glass and touched it to hers.

"To challenges met and bonds broken," he said. He watched as Sarah took a long drink of her wine and he smiled to himself. He would soon know the truth and be able to make his choice. He took a seat beside her and clasped her hand in his.

"I sang the song of my heart tonight," he told her. "I don't wish to live in your prison of stone, but I also do not wish to live in a prison of regret, one of my own making."

Sarah squeezed his hand, understanding. "You have one final challenge, my love," she said. "Complete it and you'll be free to choose your destiny. I would hope to see you choose to stay with me, not as my captive, but as my companion."

"Can I trust you, Sarah? Do I have a reason to?" Jareth asked her, his eyes pleading.

Sarah rose gracefully from the settee and fingered the lacings of her gown. They loosened beneath her fingers and the scarlet gown opened, revealing the full length of her milky flesh. "I believe I can give you one," she whispered seductively. She reached for him, but stopped, wavering. She passed a trembling hand over her face as the herbs began taking effect. Her body went numb and she looked up at Jareth in disbelief.

"What have you done?" she hissed as she collapsed into his arms. She looked groggily up at the vaulted ceiling and called out in guttural unknown words to the imps above. They screeched and flapped at their Mistress's cries and swooped down angrily toward Jareth with their pointed teeth bared and their razor-sharp claws extended.

Jareth released Sarah, letting her fall in an unconscious heap on the settee. He bolted for the Book of Secrets, snatching it from the table and barreling out the door and down the hallway. He raced down the spiraling stairs and along the dark passageways until at last he escaped out into the black night.

The cloud of imps followed, shrieking and chattering and diving down at him as he ran with the Book of Secrets tucked securely under his arm. The soggy ground sucked at his boots, slowing him, and the imps closed in. One of them caught him by the back of his shirt and began to haul him upward.

"Help me!" Jareth cried as his feet left the ground. He kicked and swung and struggled against the vile creature, nearly dropping the book. He clasped it to his chest tightly as the imp dragged him higher into the air. The book rumbled against his breast and he felt a surge of magic course throughout his body. Focusing the energy, he let it burst outward, hitting the charging imps full force. The swarm screamed and scattered, panicked, in all directions. The creature holding him released him and he plummeted toward the ground below. Closing his eyes, Jareth focused the magical energy again as the earth rose up to meet him. With a loud cry and a flash of light, his body transformed. Mottled feathers broke through his skin, his bones thinned and hollowed and his arms became strong owl's wings. He spread the wings out and caught the wind, swooping majestically up from the muddy ground and into the black sky, the Book of Secrets in his sharp talons.

With a joyous cry, Jareth soared upward with the cold air under his wings and the stars above his head. His heart thudded wildly in his feathered chest as he swooped and swept over the barren plains. His rapture was short lived as the book in his talons grew heavy. Looking at the ground, he spotted a small light below and spiraled down toward it. As he drew closer he could see that the light came from the open window of a tiny tilted shack nestled among the ruins of a stone wall. He drew in his wings and aimed for the window, but misjudged his speed. Flapping wildly, he burst through the opening and crashed into the wall at the back of the hovel. As he lay dizzy and disoriented on the dirt floor, a shadow fell over him. He felt his body shudder and transform from an owl back into a man and the shadow drew back in fear and wonder.

"What the hell? Jareth?" said a gruff voice. Jareth opened his eyes and looked up.

"Haggle?" he managed to squeak to the dwarf leaning over him.

"It's Hoggle," the dwarf said as he reached down to help Jareth sit up.

"Thank you," said Jareth, rubbing his bruised head.

Hoggle put his hands on his hips and frowned. "What were you doing? How did you get in here? What is that book? Were you an owl? What. Did. You. Do?" he gushed all at once.

Jareth looked down at where the Book of Secrets lay open at his side. "I was stealing this," he said, indicating the book. "I turned into an owl and flew in here to get away from the imps. As for what I've done," he said, pausing to draw in a deep breath. "I think I've sealed my doom."


	9. The Greatest Freedom

The dying fire crackled in the hearth while Jareth and Hoggle sat huddled over the Book of Secrets. The pages had turned themselves at Jareth's command to show him more about the sorceress's curse. He had read carefully again and again, disbelieving the truth that the book laid out on its pages. The Wiseman had told him that the book would reveal the truth to him and it had. Jareth desperately wished it hadn't. He sat back with a groan and looked at Hoggle, who gave him a wary sideways glance.

"It can't be true," Jareth sighed to the dwarf.

"I warned you," grumbled Hoggle. "That woman is no good. Never has been, never will be."

"Thank you for being so sympathetic," Jareth snapped. He put his head in his hands. "There has to be more than this," he said wearily. "Surely she doesn't know. She wouldn't do this—would she?"

"She would and she has," replied Hoggle. "Face it, Jareth, she played you for a fool."

Jareth looked back at the page, searching desperately for some clue that Sarah might not know the full truth of her curse, but there was none. She had had the book in her possession for ages. She knew what it said.

Jareth groaned again. The dwarf was right. He had fallen for her tricks and would have to pay the price. He read the terrible passage from the Book of Secrets again.

_The curse of the Morrigan upon the sorceress Sarah shall be unbreakable but by death or redemption. The answering of the questions of Men shall loose the power upon the answerer. By acceptance of the power, the answerer binds himself as redeemer and releases the sorceress of her bonds._

The truth was there in black and white. He had unwittingly given Sarah the means to free herself and bind him in her place.

"No," Jareth said, shaking his head. "I never agreed. I never accepted that power. She can't bind me."

"You used the power, didn't you?" asked Hoggle. "Use is acceptance."

Jareth slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the dishes on it. He stood and stalked angrily to the fireplace, kicking his chair as he went. It was unfair. He had read the final question of Man:

_What gives Man his greatest freedom?_

There seemed to be no way for him to win his freedom. If he refused to answer the riddle and give the sorceress her song, she would enslave him. If he gave her what she wanted, he would be bound in her place. No matter what he chose, he would lose.

"Why didn't the Wiseman tell me that?" Jareth wondered aloud. "He said my choice would be between love and death, not captivity and a curse!" He sat down listlessly in front of the fire and stared into the flickering flames that were dying in the hearth even as his hope dwindled to ash and smoke. His heart ached with the burden of the awful truth. Sarah had not only betrayed him, but cursed him as well. A cold tear slid down his cheek.

"There must be more," he whispered. "There must be a way out of this. How can I free myself?"

Unseen by him, the book on the table flipped its ancient pages. Hoggle looked at the page and his eyes widened.

"J—Jareth," he called. "You should look at this." Jareth didn't hear, lost as he was in his heartache and regret. The dwarf hauled the heavy book off the table and turned to where the distraught man sat at the hearthside. "Jareth," he said taking a step toward him.

"JARETH!" echoed a booming voice from outside the shack. The walls shook, knocking books and boxes from the shelves and loosening plaster. Dust rained down around Hoggle and Jareth as the voice called out again.

"JARETH! COME OUT HERE AT ONCE AND FACE ME!"

"Stay here," Jareth told the dwarf as he moved toward the door of the shack to obey the sorceress.

"Wait!" cried Hoggle. He shoved the Book of Secrets in Jareth's hands. "Take that. Read it. There's more you should know."

Jareth nodded and accepted the book before opening the door and stepping out into the clearing. He looked up at the shadow-draped figure standing before him.

"Hello, Sarah," he said with a haughty snarl.

The sorceress narrowed her eyes at him and scowled. Her face was ghostly pale in the moonlight, but her green eyes flashed angry fire. Lightning split the sky behind her, signaling a coming storm and her dark hair billowed wildly in the gathering wind. She was beautiful and terrible and Jareth feared and loved and hated and pitied her all at once.

"How dare you greet me so casually," she spat. "You who have defied and fled from me!"

"You lied to me Sarah," Jareth shot back. "You said you loved me, but you lied about me being able to free myself."

"I did not lie to you, Jareth," answered the sorceress, her tone softening somewhat. "If you answer the questions and give me the songs, you will be free from me. You will owe me nothing."

"You neglected to mention the curse!"

"My dear, Jareth," Sarah smirked. "You never asked."

"How can you say you love me and then betray me like this?" Jareth growled. His jaw clenched in rage and he could feel the pulse of the cursed power strengthening within him, aching to be unleashed. Around them, the wind grew wilder and the lightning zigzagged across the inky sky as the storm brewed in the sky and on the ground between the sorceress and Jareth.

"Hmph!" grunted Sarah. "This is coming from the man who drugged me and stole my property. You haven't trusted me from the beginning."

"And rightly so, I see!" retorted Jareth.

"It seems we are both at blame here, my love," Sarah told him softly.

"Don't call me that. It obviously isn't true," Jareth replied. He looked at her pitifully and she sighed.

"I admit Jareth," she began, "when I saw you that first day I knew you would serve my purpose. I knew you could free me. But-" She paused and gazed at him with tears in her eyes. "I never counted on loving you."

Jareth grunted and she gave him a small smile. "I do love you." She pointed to the Book of Secrets. "Please, give me my book, Jareth."

"No," Jareth answered, holding tightly to the thick tome. "I must know the truth, Sarah. I must know the full truth at last." He moved to open the book, but Sarah lifted a hand and released a searing bolt of energy at his center. It hit him with tremendous force, knocking him backwards onto the soggy ground. The book flew from his grasp, landing several feet away. Jareth watched, dazed, as the sorceress advanced toward the book. Finding his strength, he focused the roiling magic and called the book to his hand.

"Show me the truth of the curse!" he cried over the raging storm.

"No!" screamed Sarah as the book flew open, pages flapping and tearing in the whipping wind.

Jareth stared down at the page before him, the page Hoggle had tried to show him earlier. His heart clenched in his chest and his bowels turned to ice as he read the truth:

_The holder of the cursed power shall be given power and authority of judgment. If he judges the sorceress worthy of redemption she shall be released from the curse and he shall bind himself in her place. If she is judged unworthy he shall destroy her and relinquish the power and he shall be freed and the curse lifted from the land._

He read the passage again as the wind ebbed and the thunder died down to a distant echo. This was the choice the Wiseman had spoken of: the choice between love and death. He could destroy the sorceress and free himself, or he could bind himself in her place. As the answerer of the riddles he had been given authority to decide his fate as well as hers.

"You knew this?" he asked without looking up.

"Yes," she replied solemnly.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you have told me that you were giving me the power to destroy you?"

Jareth remained silent, mulling the question over in his mind before deciding he couldn't answer. He didn't know what he would have done if the choice had been his. How can one ever fully know whether to trust one's heart to another? How can one judge the intent and feeling of another soul except by one's own heart? Was it not always a wild and blind leap of faith to hand one's heart over to the uncertain care of a potential lover?

"A leap of faith," thought Jareth. He looked at Sarah and she seemed smaller than before. Her hair hung limp over her shoulders, her emerald eyes were sad and shining with tears and her beautiful red lips quivered as she awaited his judgment and the answer to the final question of Man.

_What is Man's greatest freedom?_

Jareth pondered the question as he studied her. What judgment would he lay against her? What freedom would he grant her: the freedom of love or the freedom of death?

She looked at him pleadingly. "Jareth," she whispered. "Have mercy. Have mercy on the one who loves you."

He paced around her frowning. "You have lied, Sarah. You have stolen. You have brought ill upon this land and its inhabitants. Why should I show mercy to you when you would have enslaved me?"

Sarah bowed her head before him. "I have no answer for you, my love. I did what I must. Now do what you must, but know this: destroying me and removing the curse also destroys the power you have been given. You will once again be no more than a mortal human. And you will be alone."

"Very well," answered Jareth. He waved his hand and his guitar materialized. With tears in his eyes and his heart falling to shreds in his chest, he began to sing.

_How does one measure the depth of a heart?_

_With a notched pole or a knotted cord?_

_How does one judge the truth of a love?_

_With a swipe of the slate or a swing of the sword?_

_Freedom of Love or Freedom of Death?_

_Unfettered to fly or unchained from Life's toil?_

_Freedom of Love or Freedom of Death?_

_Let you rest in my bosom or under the soil?_

_A gift in each hand I bring to your feet_

_My heart in one, in the other my pride_

_And ask myself which carries more weight_

_Which shall be cherished and which one denied?_

_Freedom of Love or Freedom of Death?_

_For the theft of my heart and the theft of my songs?_

_Freedom of Love or Freedom of Death?_

_Mercy or Justice, Forgiveness of Wrongs?_

_By the cursed power, by the bond of the land_

_I give you my judgment and open my hand._

Hoggle emerged at the doorway of the shack, drawn out by the song. He watched in awe as the song ended and the power took its full hold on Jareth. Jareth's eyes closed in ecstasy while the magic swirled around and through him, transforming him. His mud-spattered clothes changed into a sinister ensemble of black leather and cold, dark armor. A flowing cape the color of ink swirled around him and ebony gloves appeared on his hands. His hair lengthened and flowed wild about his face, gold and white with streaks of black braided with feathers and bits of bone. His brow narrowed and arched in colorful markings, the markings of the immortals, above his strange eyes.

He loomed menacingly over Sarah as she knelt before him and glared down at her, shaking with unbidden emotions and his newly gained magic. He felt his power flood through him, giving him authority to exact his judgment and rain down punishment. The power was heady and sweet and as intoxicating as wine. He burned with it, relishing the thrill of it beneath his skin and in his fingertips.

Sarah bowed her head solemnly, awaiting his wrath and her swift destruction.

It never came.

"I release you, Sarah," Jareth declared.

"No!" cried Hoggle from the doorway. "You have to destroy her Jareth! It's the only way to remove the curse that we're all under! Destroy that evil witch!"

Jareth looked down at the woman on her knees and sighed. "I can't," he said. "I love her. I love what she has made me." He pulled a shining orb from the air and in his hand it became a spinning wheel of colors. "I can call forth what I wish," he told the dwarf. "I can transform and fly and shake the earth and swell the tide. I can move the very stars if I so desire!"

"You selfish bastard!" the dwarf cursed. "Don't you know what this means? It means you're cursed as well. We all are. This whole land is!"

"I don't care," Jareth said, reaching down to take the sorceress by the hand and lift her to her feet. "I cannot destroy Sarah or the gift she has given me. Not for you, not for anyone."

Hoggle cursed again and spat. "Damn you, you rat! Damn you both!" he railed before storming off into the dead forest.

Jareth ignored the dwarf's cursing and wrapped his arms around Sarah, drawing her to his chest. "My love, we shall rule this land together," he told her. "I have given you your freedom and choose you to live at my side, unbound."

Sarah leaned forward and kissed his lips. "I knew this would be your choice," she said with a smile.

"Because you trusted that I truly loved you?" asked Jareth.

"No," replied Sarah. "Because I trusted that you were a fool."

"What?" Jareth questioned, looking down into her frigid stare.

A wicked grin spread across her lips. "You thought you could have it all, didn't you, my love?" she asked. "You thought you could make your play for power and that would be enough to hold me to you."

Jareth stared at her, bewildered.

"You just couldn't let us go, could you?" Sarah continued. "You couldn't let me or that dark magic out of your grasp. Well, guess what, my love? It's yours for eternity and so is this cursed place!"

"I know that," Jareth told her. "I accept that and I forgive you for what you did to me."

"Pah!" spat the sorceress. "You forgive _me_? You've accepted cursed power, Jareth. Stolen magic. I stole that magic and I was bound to this land." She laid a pale hand against Jareth's cheek. "No longer," she whispered. "I am free."

"But—but Sarah," stammered Jareth. "I thought... I thought you loved me. I freed you because I love you. I bound myself to this place for you. All of this...I've done this all for you."

"No," said Sarah. "Not all for me. You got a taste of power and me and you wanted us both. It's not surprising really. Men always want it all." She spun in a mocking circle around him. "I'll make one admission," she told him, stopping to touch his face again. "I could have loved you. I wanted to."

"Sarah," Jareth whispered as a tear slid down his cheek. He knew she spoke the truth. He had arrogantly assumed she would stay with him and that he and his newly acquired magic would be enough for her. He'd been willing to forgive, but unable to truly let her go.

"Don't take it so hard," Sarah said. "You thought you were being noble. I give rewards for nobility." She entwined her arms around his neck and kissed his mouth. Jareth felt a heaviness fall over his breast as if a weight had been laid upon his heart. He looked down at his chest where a strange medallion lay shining against his skin. The sigil on the chain was triangular, with two golden scythe-like horns curved inward toward one another. A round crystal rested in the center. Jareth fingered the golden sigil, feeling its weight in his hand and upon his soul.

"This is the seal of your bond, Jareth," the sorceress answered his unasked question. "It ties you to this land. You may leave this place only when summoned, and even then only for a short time."

Jareth looked at her pitifully. "Sarah, please," he desperately begged. "Don't leave me here alone in this place." He reached out his hands to her and she held them in her own for a moment.

"You won't be alone, my love," she replied somewhat wistfully . "You'll have the dwarf, and the beasts, and the fox, and the other disgusting creatures that inhabit this place. And you'll have the imps as well."

He shuddered at the thought of the imps screeching and shrieking and flapping their leathery wings over his bed.

Sarah noticed his shiver and laughed. "You can destroy the winged fiends if you wish, Jareth. After all, you have the power now. You are their Master." She let out a shrill call and Jareth recoiled as the air was filled with the sound of bat-like wings and ear-piercing cries. The swarm of imps flew down, alighting in the trees and on the rocks and the ruins of the stone wall, their eerie gold eyes shining out through the dark.

Sarah turned and smiled coldly at Jareth. "See? I haven't left you in solitude. Goodbye, my love," she whispered and blew him a kiss as she began to fade from view.

"Sarah!" Jareth wailed as she vanished into the ether. "No! Please, Sarah!" The imps echoed his panicked cries with their high-pitched shrieks. The noise reverberated over the hillside shaking the ground and driving those dwelling in the cursed land out of their homes to see what was making the heart-wrenching, mournful sound.

Blind with grief and fury, Jareth threw himself at the sky. He burst upward, trying to follow after Sarah, but the sigil burned against his breast and dragged him back to the earth. Again he tried, and again he fell to the ground. Over and over he hurled himself to the heavens only to crash back to the soggy plain in a miserable heap. At last, exhausted and unable to breathe between choking sobs, he curled into a ball beneath the trees and allowed the darkness to claim him.


	10. Haven of the Exiles

"Open your eyes, young fellow. That's it. There now, just relax..." the Wiseman's voice was soothing as Jareth looked up through the blurry blue haze and into the old man's whiskered face.

"Where am I?" he whispered weakly.

The old man smiled. "You're home," he told him. "I found you out on the plain and we brought you back to the castle."

"We?"

The Wiseman pointed up at the imps that were hovering in the lower rafters and Jareth shuddered. This was the second time those wretched creatures had carried him to his bed. No, not his bed, he thought. Sarah's bed.

Sarah... The thought of her drove an icy shard of iron through his heart and soul. She was gone. She had tricked and cursed him and had left him chained there.

"Sarah," Jareth moaned and tried to sit up. The room spun around and he fell back against the pillows with an anguished groan.

"You mustn't try to move," said the old man. "You've been through quite a lot."

"Hpmh! I'll say," squawked the Wiseman's hat. "Not that we didn't try to warn you."

"Be quiet!" the Wiseman bellowed. "Our young friend here needs our compassion, not gloating."

"Leave me," Jareth told them both. "I don't need anything but to be left alone."

The old man shook his enormous head. "Forgive me, young Master, but I can't do that," he replied. "It is my duty to care for you and see you back to your full strength. You exhausted yourself almost beyond recovery."

Jareth closed his eyes and sighed at the memory of what had happened. Sarah had disappeared and he had tried to follow, but was held fast by the curse and by the heavy amulet upon his breast. He was bound for eternity to this place of decay and waste and shadow.

"Why didn't you just leave me there to die?" he asked in despair.

"Tut-tut," said the Wiseman as he pressed a bowl of thick red liquid to the young man's lips. Jareth sipped the liquid and it was sweet on his tongue, but burned in his belly.

"That's a good lad," the Wiseman said gently. "This is no time to despair, my friend." He patted Jareth's arm and smiled. "We'll need you to be at your full strength," he continued. "There is much to do."

"How can you say that?" Jareth challenged as he moved to prop himself up on his elbow. "Do you even know what happened? That woman...that...Sarah... She tricked me."

"Big surprise!" the hat chimed in and the Wiseman gave it a smack with his withered hand.

"I know what happened," he told Jareth kindly. "But let me ask you a question. If you were given the opportunity, would you choose to act differently? Would you destroy her?"

Jareth remained silent. He knew he would most likely make the same choice all over again, even knowing the full truth.

"Sometimes," the Wiseman told him, "an answer can be both right and wrong. Sometimes there are no answers at all."

"That's a big help to me now," grumbled Jareth.

The old man chuckled. "You talk as if there is no hope for you, young Master."

"Well there isn't, is there?"

"Of course there is. There's always hope," replied the Wiseman. "You just can't give up before you find it."

"But look at me!" Jareth cried. "I'm a waste! I've been laid low and bound to land of death and decay and utter ruin. I am a ruin!"

The old man leaned down and looked Jareth in the eye. "No, you are not a ruin," he said quietly. "You are a new being, young and wild and full of new magic. You are your own hope, Jareth."

"I don't understand."

"I'll show you," replied the Wiseman. He fumbled with the ragged folds of his cape and produced a tiny sprig of green. It had been carefully removed from the stale ground and transplanted into an earthen pot. He held the little plant out for Jareth to see.

"What is it?" Jareth asked.

The old man caressed the little sprig. "It will be holly," he answered. "I found it where you fell."

"But the dwarf said nothing grew here..." Jareth mumbled, confused. He studied the scrawny little plant. It was no longer than his pinky finger, but it was deep emerald green and sturdy.

"Take it," instructed the old man, pressing the pot into Jareth's hands. As soon as he touched it, he felt the magic thrumming in his fingertips. He stroked the tiny sprig and it danced under his touch.

"Sing to it," the Wiseman told him.

Jareth looked up at him questioningly, but didn't refuse. He brought the small plant close to his lips and breathed a simple song over it.

_Spring, little magic sprig_

_Climb my castle walls_

_Cover o'er with green and red_

_Wherever darkness falls_

_Wind, little wisp of green_

_Wind about my tower_

_The needles of your pointed leaves_

_Can pierce the cursed power_

As Jareth sang, the holly sprig jumped to life, twirling and spiraling upward. Long tendrils shot outward from it and glossy leaves with clusters of blood-red berries unfurled from its branches. The old man watched in delight as the plant grew and danced to the magic in the song.

"How is this possible?" Jareth asked him. "The book said that the land was under a curse of death."

"No," answered the Wiseman. "It said that the sorceress was cursed to dwell in shadow and decay. As long as she remained, the land was cloaked in darkness and devoid of light and new life. You have released her and bound yourself in her place. This land is yours to command, Jareth. Yours to transform."

Jareth stared in wonder at the shimmering new life in his hands. If what the old man said was true, it was in his power to restore the land and make amends, but it would be an enormous undertaking. The sorceress had spread her darkness far and wide and deep into the earth.

"Restore your own strength before you attempt to restore this land, young Master," the old man told him. "It will take a lot of magic and a lot of time." He took the still-growing holly sprig from his hands and set it on the table next to the window where it wound its way up the side of the dark castle.

Jareth's eyes grew heavy again as the elixir the Wiseman had given him began to take effect. He lowered himself onto his pillow, closed his eyes and fell into dreams of a shining land of gold light and verdant forests surrounded by a twisting magical maze.  
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Slowly, Jareth regained his strength. The Wiseman plied him with fortifying potions and elixirs and saw to it that he rested adequately. His chest ached from the fresh wound to his heart, but as the strength of his magic grew, the pain of it lessened. It became a dull ache in his breast, a bothersome twinge. It was a small bruise to his ego, nothing more.

After much rest and preparation, Jareth set about transforming the land left in his care. The magic, he discovered, was in the music. He sang over the darkness and it fell like faded curtains at his feet, letting in the light and revealing the bright colors that had been covered over. He let his songs sweep through and around the castle, gathering up the blackened bits of curses and dark spells. He sang from the tower window and the wind rose up to match his voice, carrying the magical overtones across the plain and into the rocks and mountains beyond.

The imps watched in great distress as the darkness was lifted and light began pouring over the land and into their shadowy dwelling. They shrieked in agony as the brightness blinded their eyes and burned their leathery skin.

"Have mercy!" they cried to Jareth. He looked up at them, startled that he understood their anguished cries.

"Why should I have mercy on the likes of you?" he asked them angrily.

One quivering imp swooped down and bowed itself before him. "We are servants, my Master. We do only what we are commanded. Please forgive us and have mercy. Dispel the light and leave us to our shadows!"

"No," answered Jareth in the tongue of the imps. "This place has lain beneath the shade of evil for far too long. I have power to transform this land and I will do so." He looked down at the cowering creature. "However, I shall transform you as well."

The imp remained bowed before him as he stretched out his hand and let the magic flow from his fingertips.

"You will no longer fly in the dark," Jareth said as the imps' wings disintegrated into dust. "You will crawl and hobble and creep in the fertile dirt and the warm light. And you will serve me."

The imps clambered down from the rafters and lowered themselves before him. Their long wiry bodies became thick and squat. Their glowing yellow eyes grew large and dull, accepting of the new light.

"Tell us what we have to do," the newly formed goblins cried.

"You will guard and defend this land," Jareth told them. "You will protect and obey me. If you dare defy me, I will make you suffer. Do you understand?"

The goblins nodded and gruffed and groveled at his feet until he finally shooed them away and returned to his work.  
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Day by day, little by little, Jareth tore down the shroud of evil that the sorceress had thrown over the land. He collected all the putrid remnants and deposited them into the marshlands near the forest. The swamp churned and bubbled with the fetor of the decaying dregs and cursed refuse. Slimy fingers of foul residuum clawed at the soggy banks, desperate to escape the festering bog. This place would need a watchman, a guard to oversee and make certain that none of the vile fragments ever broke free. Jareth sought out the little fox-knight.

"I am setting you as Watchman over this bog," he told Sir Didymus. "It is full of evil things and none of them can ever be allowed to escape. Make certain nothing ever leaves."

"Yes, Your Majesty," answered the knight, sweeping into a graceful bow. "Nothing and no one shall pass without my permission."

Jareth looked down at the fox, amused. "Your Majesty?" he asked.

"Yes, of course, Sire," replied the fox as he stood up. "You are the rightful Sovereign of this land now. You are our king."

Jareth smiled a little to himself as he walked away. If he must be bound to this place, he could do worse than being hailed as its ruler. He would be their king, if that's what the creatures wanted, and they would be his loyal subjects.  
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"How do you like my garden?" Jareth asked the dwarf. He had seen little more than the back end of Hoggle since his work of restoration had begun. This day however, he'd managed to catch him as he snoozed under a new plum tree. The dwarf snorted awake and frowned up at him.

"Oh, it's you," he snarled.

"You may address me as Your Majesty," snapped Jareth. "I asked you a question, Hogbrain."

Hoggle grunted and turned his head away. "Those overgrown fruit bats might have claimed you as their king, but I haven't," answered Hoggle. "As for your garden, it's not much consolation for you selling us all out to that no good-"

He wasn't allowed to finish. Jareth snatched him up roughly by his arms and thrust him against the trunk of the plum tree.

"How dare you, you ungrateful little scab," he hissed into the dwarf's face. "Have you forgotten who I am, what I've become? I am your Master now and you will obey me or, so help me, you will pay dearly!" He released the dwarf and let him fall to the ground with a thud. "Is that perfectly clear?"

"Y—yes, Your Majesty," Hoggle stammered as he rubbed his bruised backside.

"Good," Jareth said with a smirk. He waved his hand and a riding crop appeared in it. He studied the leather crop as he continued, pacing purposefully around the dwarf. "I need a gardener. Are you up to the task, Hogsnout?"

"Hoggle."

"Whatever. Do you accept this position or do I have to further convince you?" Jareth asked, glaring down at the dwarf and tapping his riding crop against his thigh.

"Yes, Your Majesty. I mean, no! I mean, I accept. No further convincing needed," Hoggle gushed nervously, adding a clumsy bow.

"Excellent," Jareth replied. "You may begin immediately. I'd like the young laurels at the castle's edge trimmed and shaped into my image."

He winked and disappeared, leaving a fuming Hoggle alone under the plum tree.  
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Jareth soared, letting the wind lift his snowy wings as he surveyed his kingdom from above. The darkness of the curse had been pushed to the outermost edges, leaving a bright, if not still somewhat ragged landscape behind. There was still a great deal of evil magic lurking in the unexplored passageways and tunnels below the plains and forest. Jareth had left those for the most stupidly courageous goblins to deal with. He provided them with a contraption of his own design to clean the tunnels, and they spent many gleeful hours tearing through the passageways, ripping and shredding the dark remnants and funneling them into the Bog.

As he glided over the newly purged land with his shadow grazing the fresh fragrant grass, he saw that his kingdom needed more. It stood open and unprotected and his rag-tag army of goblins would do little against a true invasion. He owed it to his subjects and the land to which he had willingly tied himself to make sure they were protected from forces on the outside.

Swooping down, Jareth circled the castle tower and perched himself upon its pinnacle. He looked out over the rolling plains and forests and marshland and was reminded of the dream he had had while he was recovering. The land had looked much like this, but had been encircled by an enormous maze, a magical maze full of dead-ends and trap doors and illusions. Jareth smiled to himself. He would build a spectacular maze around his kingdom that would serve as protection for him and his subjects and as a deterrent for would-be invaders.

It took him several months to plan, design and draw out the labyrinth. It would take him much longer to build. Using the magic of his music, he moved stones and trees and vines and hedges, laid bricks and cobbles and sculpted pathways. The process was exhausting, especially the Song of the Stones. He could only do a bit at a time without draining himself. Remembering the happy singing of Ludo's beastly family upon his return, Jareth revisited them and taught them the Song of the Stones. The huge beasts gathered on the plain and sang and the stones moved quickly, falling into place wherever Jareth specified. The walls of the labyrinth rose bit by bit over what had been the soggy plain. They stretched out in seemingly endless paths to the horizon. The maze twisted and turned and angled and arched, leading anyone lost within its glistening walls on a never-ending journey of despair.

When it was finally complete, Jareth looked out his kingdom and his creation. The goblins had begun building a city of their own outside the castle gates. Tilted dwellings and small shops were rising up along the crooked streets. Beyond the goblin city, the wondrous labyrinth spread out in all directions. Between the city and the stone maze, a green maze of hedge had been carved out by the dwarf. The dead forest beyond had burst forth in a wild array of trees and plants and flowers and the forest floor crawled with strange new creatures. Jareth smiled at what he had built. It would serve him well. It was good.

The tiny twinge beneath his heavy amulet reminded him of what he had lost, but he pushed the ache aside. He was the king of this land, and it would serve as a place of refuge for all lost things and creatures. He would rule over the forgotten, the outcasts, and the wished-away. This kingdom would be the haven of the exiles and he would be its Master. He was the lord of the labyrinth.

Jareth, the king of the goblins.


	11. Epilogue

"I was much too lenient on you last time, I see," mused the Morrigan. She arose from her golden throne and moved to the edge of the dais and the steps where the beautiful sorceress awaited her sentence. She placed a cold hand beneath the sorceress' chin and lifted her face up toward hers.

"I should have known better than to leave you a means of escape," she continued with half a smile. "That poor mortal fell for your charms so easily and was so eager to forgive and forget. It's a testament to your cunning and beauty. I've taught you well."

The sorceress lifted her eyes to meet the gaze of the goddess and smiled, but only briefly as the goddess went on.

"Unfortunately for you, Mistress of the Half Moon, I do not forgive and forget as easily as your pathetic mortal. Twice you have stolen from me, and now you will face your ultimate judgment."

The sorceress remained silent as the Morrigan circled her, surveying her with an icy blue stare.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" the goddess asked her. "No defense?"

"No," answered the sorceress. She lowered her head and stared down at the marble floor. What could she say? She had been once again caught stealing magic from her Mistress. She had known it was a risky endeavor, but had done it anyway. The Morrigan possessed the spell she needed, a powerful spell, one that could undo all other spells and break even the strongest curse. She had bribed and flirted and charmed her way into obtaining it, only to be found with it in her possession by the goddess herself. She had no defense other than the fact that she simply had to have it.

The goddess moved away and reseated herself on her shining throne. Her face took on a stony solemn expression as she studied the woman before her.

"Why, Sarah?" she asked softly. "Why would you take the Key spell? What doors are you wishing to unlock? You've already won your freedom from your binding. What curse were you intending to break?"

Sarah held her tongue, but a tear slid down her ivory cheek. The Morrigan saw and sat back in her throne, amused.

"Ah, I see," she said. "It's the mortal, isn't it? The one you fooled into thinking you loved him. Only you didn't fool him, did you? You _do_ love him and you were going to release him. How...noble. Foolishly noble, but noble nonetheless."

"Please," Sarah whispered at last. "I only wanted to right the wrong I had done to him. I never intended..." She paused and looked up at the goddess with fury and anguish in her eyes. "It isn't fair that he should be held under that curse. He should be allowed to-"

"Silence!" cried the goddess, rising majestically from her throne with her arms raised. Her eyes flashed fire as she stared down at the sorceress. "You, a thief and a liar, dare to tell me what is fair? I am the goddess and judge. I decide what is right and fair. I decide life and death, blessings and curses. You charmed him and chained him, and he, stupid mortal that he was, believed you. He deserves that curse as much as you deserve your punishment."

The Morrigan pointed a long finger at Sarah and sneered. "You shall be stripped of your magic and given a mantle of mortal flesh. You will live powerless in the mortal realm and die amongst the pathetic humans. You will have no memory of who you were, except in the dreams that will haunt you every night of your brief and pitiful existence. You will feel pain and rejection and loss and you will have no magic to buffer you, only the dismal reality of human flesh and the sharp sting of their emotions."

Sarah closed her eyes as she listened to the judgment of the goddess upon her. She had known this would be her fate if caught. It was the ultimate punishment for her to have her magic taken and to be forced into humanity. Her memories would be erased, her former life swept away like a spider's web, leaving only thin fragile strands to dance in her dreams.

She had taken one precaution. There had been one more spell, one so small and insignificant that the goddess did not notice it: the book. Although it was nearly impossible that it would work, Sarah was grateful for her foresight. She had crafted the little book and cast a simple spell over it before sending it ahead of her.

"Find me," she had whispered to its soft red cover. "Help me remember. Lead me back." She had sent the book though the veil between worlds and now it waited for her somewhere in the mortal realm.

She said a silent prayer to every being of power she knew as the Morrigan's judgment rained down upon her. Darkness enshrouded her and the walls closed in tight, crushing her thin delicate frame. She was pressed on every side, tumbled and tossed by the contracting walls. Sarah cried out as the pressure around her built, squeezing out the memory of who she was and leaving only dark uncertainty in its place. She sensed herself spiraling downward, falling headlong into nothingness. Her magic leaked like blood from her skin, dissolving into vapor as she fell. Finally, she burst forth from the suffocating darkness into dazzling light and felt herself being lifted up and enveloped in warmth. The world around her was a brilliant blur and she closed her eyes against the glare, whimpering. A voice spoke from out of the haze.

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Williams, she's beautiful."

Sarah wriggled against her bindings and let out a sharp wail. She opened her eyes as she was lowered onto soft warmth and a gently thudding beat. The fleshy heat and the thrumming pulse calmed her and she nestled deeper against it, exhausted.

"What will you name her?" asked the bodiless voice.

As she drifted off into a deep sleep, she heard another voice, feminine and familiar answer.

"Sarah. Her name is Sarah."

The End


End file.
